. 


AVl^li 


'^d9k:j9tU*^ 


8BS8  tiBRARY 


i 


KRANCIS    &    CO.'S 

E.n^j'i'iLis  iL  n®  IE  Amir  s 

A  Series  of  Volumes,  for  Young  People  of  all  ages,  by  some  of  ths 
Bc^t  Writers  for  Cliildrcu — uniformly  printed  and  bound,  and  Em- 
bellished by  handsome  Engravings. 


Turns  of  Fortune ;  All  is  not  Gold  that  Glittei-s,  &c. 

13Y    MRS.    S.    C.    HALL. 


The  Favoiirit€  Scholar,  Little  Chatterbox,  Perseverance, 

AND    OTHER    TALES. 
BY    MARY    HOWITT,    MRS.    S.    C.    HALL,    ETC. 


Piowers  for  Chiltei.       in  prose  and  verse. 

BY    L.    MARIA    CHILD. 
No.  1. — For  Children  Eight  or  Nine  Years  old. 
No.  2.— For  Children  Three  or  Four  Years  old. 
%^  Several  other  volumes  are  in  preparation,  designed  for  children 
of  various  ages. 


The  Robins;  or  Domestic  Life  among  the  Birds. 

Designed  for  thelnf^truction  of  Children  re.specting  their  Treatment 
of  Animals. 

BY    MRS.    TRIMMER. 


Kate  and  Lizzie ;  or  Six  Months  out  of  School. 


BY    ANNE    W.    ABBOT. 


Facts  to  Correct  Fancies, 


Or  Short  Narratives  compiled  from  the  Biography  of  Remarkable 
Women,  written  for  Children. 

BY    A    MOTHER. 

^^  Several  other  works  preparing  for  the  preea. 


Publisbed  by   C  S,  M^^attcia  »  Co.  New  Yorb. 

WRITIJSGS    OF    MRS.   CHILD. 

Philothea,  a  Grecian  Romauce.     new  EcnioN-Revised. 

TJiis  novel,  as  its  title  indicates,  is  an  attempt  to  paint  the  manners 
and  life  of  Grecian  Ciiissical  times.  Mrs.  Cliilil  has  tome  intellectual 
traits,  which  are  well  suited  lo  success  in  this  held  ot  literary  enterprize. 
She  has  a  vigorous  and  exhuberanl  imagination,  and  an  accurate  eye  for 
beauty  of  form.  She  understands  the  harmonious  construction  of  lan- 
guage, and  can  describe  both  nature  and  society  with  liveliness  and  traih. 
Her  style,  in  its  general  character,  is  rich  and  eloquent  ;  abounding  in 
brilliant  turns  and  fanciful  illustrations.  It  is  generally  simple,  energetic, 
and  impressive  ;  but  sometimes  it  is  too  dazzling.  'J'he  time  selected  by 
ilrs.  Child  is  the  most  brilliant  period  in  the  "history  ot  Athens. 

We  cannot  leave  the  book,  without  expressing  our  persuasion  that 
it  will  take  a  prominent  place  in  our  elegant  literature.  Every  page  of 
it  breathes  the  inspiration  of  genius,  and  shows  a  highly  cultiv&led  lastfl 
in  literature  and  art. — J\iort/i  Jimencan  Review. 

Letters  from  New  York.  second  Eumoi*. 

We  have  read  this  charming  volume  as  we  used  to  read  books 
years  ago,  and  at  the  close  found  ourselves  refreshed  and  gladdened. 
Spirited,  keen,  witty — with  an  eye  true  lo  the  beautiful  and  a  sense  tor 
the  riglit  and  good  'vhich  never  Jails  her — satirical  without  malice,  and 
clever  without  pedantry — richly  cndowpd  with  all  the  constituents  ot  an 
able  writer,  and  with  a  woman's  heart,  like  a  crown  of  glory,  shining  over 
all,  Mrs.  Child  is  deservedly  |)Opular  as  one  ot  the  voiy  hrst  amoig  liv- 
ing authors.  Her  paintings  are  all  true  to  nature,  her  anecdotes  pointed 
and  to  the  purpose,  her  conversations  easy  and  full  of  dramatic  power, 
and  her  moral,  like  the  Iragrance  of  the  violet,  felt  without  being  seen 
by  those  who  linger  over  tho  beauties  uf  hei  writings. — vV.  York  7'ribane. 


Tlie    Mother's    Book.        New  edition— Revised  and  Amended, 

The  value  and  tisefulness  of  this  little  book  is  well  known, — it  having 
passed  through  eight  editions  in  this  country  and  twelve  in  England. 

Flowers  for  Children. 

A  series  of  volumes  in  Prose  and  Verse,  for  Children  of  various  ages. 
Extract  from  the  Preface. 
To  Parents. — Several  years  ago  1. published  a  little  periodical  called 
the  Juvenile  Miscellany.  It  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  parents  and  chil- 
dren ;  and,  since  it  has  been  out  of  print,  I  have  had  frequent  requests  to 
republish  it.  1  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  do  this.  But  I  have  con- 
cluded to  pulilish  a  series  of  small  books,  under  the  title  of  Flowers  'or 
Children.  About  half  of  each  of  these  volumes  will  consist  of  new  arti- 
cles, written  expressly  for  the  occasion,  and  the  other  half  will  be  a  se- 
lection of  what  seem  to  me  the  best  of  my  own  articles  formerly  publish- 
ed  in  the  Juvenile  Miscellany.  Upon  reviewing  the  book  for  this  purpose, 
I  find  that  my  matuicr  judgment  rejects  some  inaccuracies,  some  moral 
inferences,  and  many  imperfections  of  style.  1  have  therefore  carefully 
••wtiUteu  all  the  articles  liicd  in  the  pres&iit  selei.ticn.  L.M.C. 


FRANCIS  &  CO.'S 

IL  n  y  'J  IL  I®    a.  3  IB  IS  A  IS  T  3 

FOR  YOUNG  TERSONS  OF  VARIOUS  AGES. 

THE  PRIVATE  PURSE,  &.c. 

BY  MRS.    S,   C.   HALL. 


THE 


PRIVATE    PURSE: 


AND   OTHER  TALES. 


BY 

M  R  S.   S.   C.    H  A  L  L 


N  E  W  -  Y  O  R  K  : 
C.  S.  FRANCIS  &,  CO.,  252  BROADWAY. 

BOSTON : 

J.    H.    FRANCIS,    123    WASHINGTON    STREET. 

1845. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

The  Private  Purse 9 

Cleverness 55 

The  Governess 92 

Dlmmy 171 


THE  PRIVATE  PURSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

**  Tell  my  niece,  Miss  Geraldine — I  mean, 
tell  Mrs.  Leeson — that  as  soon  as  she  has  put 
off  her  bridal  and  put  on  her  travelling  dress,  I 
wish  to  see  her,"  said  Mrs.  Gascoigne  to  her 
maid,  who  had  not  answered  her  bell  until  she 
had  rung  it  twice. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  rephed  the  flushed  maiden, 
who  was  bowed  out  with  white  satin  ribbon,  as 
if  she  too  were  just  made  a  bride. 

"  And  hsten — When  all  this  mummery  is 
over,  take  off  these  white  fal-lals,  and  lay  them 
by ;  they  will  do  for  the  next  fool  of  the  family 
who  chooses  to  enter  the  '  holy  bonds ' — ah  ! 
ah!" 

The  servant  hardly  murmured  "  Yes,  ma'am" 
to  this,  nor  had  she  quite  closed  the  door  on  the 
crackhng  laugh  of  her  mistress,  when  she  mut- 
tered, "  Well,  that  beats  all !  She  to  come  on 
a  visit  to  her  own  sister  on  her  niece's  wedding- 
day,  and  grudge  me  wearing  of  the  ribbons  that 
cost  her  nothing  !  But  it's  just  like  her !  Stin- 
gy ! — augh  !     It's  no  use  talking — I  cant  a-bear 


10  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

Stinginess.  I  wonder  why  she  could  not  stay 
below  at  the  breakfast  hke  other  Christians ;  but 
it's  none  of  my  business.  Put  by  the  ribbons, 
indeed,  that  never  cost  her  a  brass  farthing !"  A 
group  of  ladies  passing  from  one  room  to  anoth- 
er interrupted  this  soliloquy,  and  turned  the  rip- 
pling current  of  the  waiting-maid's  small  mind 
from  meditation  to  observation.  In  an  instant 
she  became  spell-bound  by  the  white  roses  that 
garlanded  the  bridesmaids'  bonnets. 

]\Irs.  Gascoigne,  a  lady  of  some  five-and-fifly 
years,  who  had  been  a  wife  for  a  year  and  a 
widow  for  ten,  was  occupied  after  her  own  fash- 
ion. She  was  seated  at  a  table  in  her  dressing- 
room,  and  upon  it  was  her  open  desk.  Her 
long  narrow  features  were  pinched  into  a  mean 
expression ;  her  hair  grew  thinly  above  her 
hrow  ;  and  yet  it  was  short  and  frizzed,  as  if  it 
had  not  the  heart  to  grow  long.  Her  lips  were 
thin  and  compressed,  betokening,  however,  se- 
crecy rather  than  firmness.  I  liave  noted  ugly 
mouths,  still  of  a  bland  and  generous  formation ; 
but  1  never  saw  a  mouth  like  Mrs.  Gascoigne's 
that  was  not  indicative  of  meanness  and  subter- 
fuge. Her  eyes  were  fine — that  is  to  say,  well 
set,  and  of  a  good  colour  ;  but  their  expression 
was  unpleasing — it  was  sharp  and  suspicious. 
Her  dress  was  neither  good  nor  becoming,  and 
she  had  flung  aside  the  silver  favour  indicative 
of  the  motive  that  had  drawn  her  from  her  own 
home.  A  faded  purse  of  blue  and  white  was  be- 
tween her  fingers,  and  into  it  she  had  dropped 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  11 

some  guineas — not  sovereigns,  but  old-fashioned 
golden  guineas — which  she  had,  as  it  were,  pur- 
loined from  her  own  desk.  She  shook  them 
once  or  twice,  and  an  unconscious  smile  dis- 
turbed the  gravity  of  her  face — It  was  evident 
that  she  loved  the  golden  chimes.  Then  she 
picked  one  out,  and  put  it  into  its  secret  hiding- 
place  in  her  desk.  "  Forty-nine,"  she  said  to 
herself — '•'  forty-nine  will  go  as  far  with  a  foolish 
girl  as  fifty ;  but  it  is  an  odd  number — she  may 
wonder  why  it  was  not  fifty."  Another  was 
taken  from  the  purse  and  returned  to  the  drawer. 
A  moment's  pause — she  looked  out  a  third,  a 
fourth ;  weighed  it  for  a  moment  on  her  well- 
practised  finger — it  was  a  thought  light,  so  she 
exchanged  it  for  one  that  pleased  her  better,  and 
it  was  dropped  into  the  hoard.  Another — she 
cliinked  the  purse  again.  "  Forty-five  good 
guineas — forty  and  five,"  she  repeated — "hum  ! 
quite  enough  to  commence  a  private  purse  for 
the  wife  of  a  young  banker;"  and  she  shut  it  to 
with  a  determined  snap. 

"  May  I  come  in,  dear  aunt  ?"  said  a  sweet 
voice  at  the  door — "  may  I  come  in  1" 

Until  the  desk  was  shut  and  locked  she  made 
no  answer ;  and  then,  affecting  not  to  have  re- 
cognised tones  the  sweetness  of  which  told  upon 
every  ear,  as  the  joy  bells  sound  upon  the  sum- 
mer air,  she  inquired,  "Who  is  there?" 

"  Me,  aunt — Geraldine,"  answered  the  same 
music. 

"  Oh  yes,  dear,  come  in,"    said    Mrs.  Gas- 


12  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

coigne.  For  a  moment  she  looked  with  pride 
upon  the  young  and  lovely  being  who  had  that 
day  committed  her  entire  destiny  into  the  hands 
of  one  who  had  promised,  with  his  whole  heart 
and  soul,  to  *'  love  her,  comfort  her,  honour  and 
keep  her  in  sickness  and  in  health ;  and,  for- 
saking all  others,  keep  him  only  unto  her  so  long 
as  they  both  should  live." 

"  Why,  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  as 
the  mind  returned  to  its  old  habits,  "  what  a  deal 
of  money  that  dress  must  have  cost !  it  is  a  real 
pity  to  hack  it  travelling — a  real  pity.  Dear 
Geraldine,  have  you  no  turned  silk  you  could 
wear  on  the  journey  1 — eh  !" 

"  You  know,  aunt,  I  brought  Henry  no  for- 
tune, so  mannna  thought  the  least  thing  I  might 
have  was  a  handsome  wardrobe;"  and  she 
looked  as  much  annoyed  as  she  could  have  been 
with  anything  on  such  a  day. 

"  Ah,  dear — well,  that's  true  ;  I  suppose  your 
poor  mother  scraped  together  all  she  could  to 
make  up  the  trousseau,  and  has  no  little  purse 
to  give  you,  eh?" 

"  My  dear  mother,"  rephed  the  bride — and 
the  ready  tears  rose  to  her  eyes — "  has  indeed 
done  every  thing  to  make  me  happy — I  was 
jroing  to  say  independent — but  every  woman  is 
dependent  upon  her  husband  ;  and  Henry  is  so 
gentle  and  affectionate,  I  have  no  fear  that  he 
will  make  me  feel  he  was  rich  and  I  was  poor. 
Mamma  gave  me  ten  guineas,  and,"  added  the 
fair  girl  (she  had  not  numbered  nineteen  sum- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  13 

mers,)  with  a  proud  air,  "  it  will  be  a  long  time 
before  I  spend  all  that." 

*'  That's  my  own  Geraldine — keep  it,  dear — 
don't  spend  it — keep  it.  Gold  grows  by  the 
keeping;  it  does  not  rust  or  mildew — keep  it ;  it 
is  power — all  that  man  or  woman  wants.  I  know 
that — by  wanting  it,  Geraldine.  Ay,  you  may 
smile,  and  I  daresay  your  mother  and  all  of  them 
think  it  not  true  :  poor  Mr.  Gascoigne  left  me 
enough,  but  no  more.  You,  Geraldine,  were 
my  god- child — called  after  me — and  I  must  say 
that  you  have  been  as  good  and  as  affectionate 
as  if  I  had  made  you  a  present  every  birthday, 
which,  perhaps,  I  might  have  done,  had  I  not 
been  afraid  you  would  have  married  your  cousin 
Arthur  Harewell." 

"  My  dearest  aunt !"  ejaculated  Geraldine,  in 
a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  1  know  he  was  very  fond  of  you; 
but  I  hate  every  one  of  the  Harewells ;  they  are 
^as  poor  as  charcli  mice,  and  yet  as  proud  of  their 
intellect  as  if  they  had  been  every  one  city  mem- 
bers. Now,  my  dear,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a 
secret,  which  I  must  not  have  you  tell  Henry ; 
your  own  secrets  you  may  tell  him,  if  you  are 
foolishly  fond  of  talking,  but  as  this  is  my  se- 
cret, you  have  no  right  to  tell  it." 

"  No,"  said  Geraldine,  somewhat  hastily,  "  I 
will  not  tell  him  your  secret,  aunt.  1  have  no 
right  to  do  that,  I  think." 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear ;  all  men  have  odd 
notions,  and  it  is  a  foohsh  thing  to  tell  them  every 


14  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

nonsense ;  it  makes  them  think  httle  of  us  wo- 
men, to  keep  up  a  tittle-tattle  about  every  trifle." 
Geraldme  gave  no  reply  to  this.  She  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  tell  Henry  every  thing  ; 
this  was  her  own  right-minded  impulse;  for  her 
mother,  a  quiet,  amiable,  fashionably-thinking 
woman,  fancied  she  performed  her  duly  when 
she  sent  Geraldine  to  a  boarding-school,  heard 
her  play  and  sing,  and  saw  her  dance  during  the 
vacations — restricted  her  own  expenditure  in  all 
things  that  she  might  have  the  best  masters,  and 
be  as  well  dressed  as  girls  who  had  ten  times 
her  fortune — a  sure  way  to  enfeeble  the  mind — 
took  it  for  granted,  that,  as  she  knew  her  cat- 
echism, had  been  confirmed,  and  went  every 
Sunday  to  church,  her  religious  education  was 
such  as  to  beht  the  high  calling  of  a  Christian — 
and  had  never  spoken  to  her  of  the  duties  a 
Avoman  is  called  upon  to  fulfil  as  wife  and  moth- 
er, until  about  a  week  previous  to  the  wedding- 
day,  when  she  told  her  to  be  affectionate  and 
forbearing,  and  "not  to  forget  her  own  dignity." 
Something  she  added  about  the  duties  of  a  moth- 
er, and  the  advantage  of  cold  bathing  for  inlants  ; 
but  quickly  concluded  by  saying  that  there  would 
be  "time  enough  to  think  of  that."  No  wonder 
that  Geraldine  was  unable  to  reply  to  her  aunt's 
common-places,  and  at  once  unravel  their  fallacy 
and  penetrate  their  danger.  There  are,  to  my 
knowledge,  at  this  moment,  when  volumes  on 
female  education  pour  from  the  press — when 
national  education  is  rendering  the  lower  supe- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  15 

rior  to  the  higher  class  in  sohd  and  usefiil  knowl- 
edge— there  are  scores  of  well-intentioned  ladies, 
gentlewomen  by  birth  and  in  manner,  who  love 
their  daughters,  who  would  (if  thej  knew  how) 
forward  their  temporal  and  eternal  welfare  in 
eveiy  possible  way — and  yet  do  no  more  than 
Geraldine  Leeson's  mother  did.  When  shall 
we  have  a  school  for  mothers  1 

Mrs.  Gascoigne  resumed  the  broken  thread  of 
her  discourse  more  quickly  than  1  have  finished 
my  digression. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Geraldine,  I  have  here  a  lit- 
tle present  for  you — ^just  enough  to  prevent  your 
running  to  your  husband's  pocket  every  mo- 
ment ;  but  i/ou  must  not  tell  him  a  ivord  about  it 
— it  is  my  secret.  If  he  or  your  mother  were  to 
know  1  had  scraped  together  fifty — no,  five-and- 
forty — guineas  for  you,  they  would  expect  me  to 
go  on  givmg  ;  and  the  more  you  give,  the  more 
you  may.  So,  take  it  with  my  blessing,  child, 
and  take  caie  of  it;  spend  it  secretly  for  any 
httle  thing  you  may  want,  and  say  nothing  about 
it.'» 

Geraldine  was  really  surprised  and  pleased ; 
she  had  never  in  all  her  life  had  so  much  money 
of  her  own,  and  least  of  all  had  she  expected  it 
from  her  "  stingy  aunt."  She  reiterated  her 
thanks  most  sincerely ;  and  little  thought  she 
had  taken  the  first  step  towards  deceivmg  her 
husband  and  working  her  own  misery. 

"  Remember,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gascoigne — 
"remember,   it   is  rny  secret,   and  you   have 


16  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

promised;  you  cannot  conceive  how  I  should 
suffer  if  you  broke  your  word."  Again  Geral- 
diiie  kissed  her,  and  bade  her  affectionately  fare- 
well— not  before  she  had  been  twice  summoned 
by  her  bridesmaids. 

"  I  might  as  well,"  said  this  dangerous  moni- 
tor, as  she  took  her  seat  by  the  window  to  ob- 
serve the  departing  carriages — "  I  might  as  well 
have  taken  back  that  odd  five  ;  and  then  the  ten 
her  mother  gave  would  have  just  made  up  the 
fifty.  I  hope  she'll  take  care  of  it,  poor  dear 
child  !  There  she  goes,  and  her  cousin,  Arthur 
Hare  well,  handing  her  in  !  Well,  I  shall  con- 
ceive it  my  duty  to  give  Henry  Leeson  a  hint  to 
look  after  his  pretty  wife  when  Master  Harewell 
is  in  the  way.  It  is  a  very  queer  world  we 
live  in  !" 

The  people  who  make  the  world  "  queer,"  as 
they  caU  it,  are  the  first  to  complain  of  this  queer- 
ness  ;  and  so  it  was  with  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  Her 
own  marriage  had  been  entirely  dictated  by  in- 
terested motives.  She  married  a  rich  old  miser 
for  the  sake  of  his  wealth  when  she  was  past 
forty  ;  and  upon  her  "  queer"  ways  his  *'  queer" 
ways  became  engrafted.  Geraldine's  match 
pleased  her,  because  Mr.  Leeson  was  rich ;  and 
she  fancied  her  god-child  had  inherited  her  dis- 
position, because  she  had  discarded  a  poor 
cousin,  whom  she  beheved,  erroneously,  she 
loved,  and  married  a  wealthy  man,  whom  she,  as 
erroneously,  believed  she  did  not  love.  If  Geral- 
dine  had  chanced  to  like  and  wed  her  poor 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 


17 


cousin,  Mrs.  Gascoigne  would  never  have  given 
her  five- and  forty  pence. 


CHAPTER  11. 

Geraldixe  Leeson  had  escaped  many  of  the 
contaminations  of  a  pubUc  school,  from  a  sincere 
desire  to  learn  thoroughly  whatever  she  under- 
took;  consequently  she  had  little  spare  time. 
She  knew  the  sacrifices  her  mother  made  that 
sha  might  become  accomplished ;  and  besides, 
slie  loved  her  home  dearly  and  devotedly.  She 
had  not  left  it  as  early  as  many  children  do,  so 
that  the  home  affections,  if  not  full-grown,  had 
taken  ro-jt  before  her  departure  into  a  commu- 
nity as  varied  and  as  dangerous  as  that  of  all 
large  schools  must  be,  until  their  entire  system  is 
thoroughly  regenerated.  Still,  as  this  was  a 
"  finishing  school,"  she  could  not  but  hear  vari- 
ous speculations,  on  the  part  of  many  of  the  elder 
girls,  as  to  "  when  they  should  come  out.'* 
How  anxious  the  mamma  of  one  was  to  get  papa 
into  good  humour,  to  spend  a  winter  in  Paris — 
whether  he  could  afford  it  or  not — because  her 
cousin  had  made  an  excellent  match  there  ;  to 
be  sure,  the  gentleman  thought  at  first,  from  the 
style  they  lived  in,  that  they  were  very  rich,  but 
he  knew  the  difference  now ;  and  the  other  girls 


18  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

laughed  at  this,  and  exclaimed,  "  What  fun !" 
Another  mourned  bitterly  "  papa's  stinginess," 
and  how  her  poor  mamma  was  obhged  to  alter 
the  house  bills  to  make  them  appear  more  than 
they  were,  or  else  they  never  could  have  any- 
thing fit  to  wear;  while  a  third  rejoiced  that 
such  never  could  be  the  case  at  home,  as  her 
mamma's  pin  money  was  secured,  and  she  did 
as  she  pleased  without  consulting  any  one  !  All 
this  sort  of  poisoning  is  carried  on,  like  all  poison- 
ings, secretly :  I  do  believe  that  few  women,  un- 
dertaking the  charge  of  youth,  would  suffer  such 
observations  to  go  unreproved  ;  but  no  governess 
can  have  ear  and  eye  for  fifty,  or  even  five-and- 
iwenty,  "  grown-up "  young  ladies,  who  are 
permitted  to  sleep,  four  or  two,  in  the  same  room, 
and  to  wallv  attended  by  foreign  teachers,  who 
frequently  do  not  understand  the  language  spo- 
ken by  their  pupils. 

Geraldine  had  escaped  systematic  corruption  ; 
she  loved  music  and  dancing  for  their  own  sakes, 
and  never  cared  a  great  deal  for  creating  a  sen- 
sation. She,  of  course,  desired  to  be  loved  ;  but 
she  never  degraded  affection  by  calculation. 
She  would  have  paused,  certainly,  before  she 
wedded  poverty;  but  she  would  not  have  mar- 
ried simply  because  her  lover  was  rich.  So  far 
she  was  tolerably  right ;  but,  unfortunately,  many 
mothers,  and  hers  among  the  number,  have  con- 
fused notions  as  to  the  boundaries  of  the  dehcate 
and  indehcate.  If  love  is  mentioned,  instead  of 
impressing  the  young  mind  with  a  just  idea  of 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  19 

its  sacred  nature,  its  holy  attributes,  its  natural 
impulses,  it  is  dimissed  with  an  "  Oh  fie  !"  or  a 
reproving  look,  which  at  once  assures  the  daugh- 
ter that  her  mother  cannot  be  her  confidant,  and 
thus  a  mother  loses  a  stronghold  in  her  child's 
mind  ;  whereas,  making  it  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation, speaking  of  it  as  an  event  on  which  much 
of  the  happiness  or  misery  of  after-life  depends, 
would  strengthen  the  reasoning  powers  against 
its  undue  influence,  and,  while  subduing  its  vio- 
lence, lead  to  its  being  considered  in  its  more 
holy  and  sacred  bearings. 

Geraldine's  motJier  would  have  almost  blushed 
herself  at  mentioning  a  husband  to  her,  in  the 
abstract ;  and  yet  she  could  not  fail  to  perceive 
to  what  the  hint  of,  "  Geraldine,  wear  your  blue 
and  white,  and  let  Esther  dress  your  hair;  I 
want  you  to  look  particularly  well  to-night " 
tended — for  this  was  done  when  only  one  eldest 
son  was  expected  to  "  come  in  and  try  his  new 
flute."  Hov/  much  of  the  dignity  of  truth,  with 
whicli  every  British  mother  ought  to  be  crowned, 
is  sacrificed  to  those  petty  arts;  how  much  mis- 
ery ensured,  by  domestic  duties  feebly  sustained  ! 
"  I  hope,"  said  her  mother — "  I  hope  and 
pray  you  may  make  a  good  wife  ;"  and  she 
meant  what  she  said,  but  she  had  never  adopted 
the  means  to  make  her  one. 

Geraldine  read  over  the  marriage  ceremony, 
thought  for  a  moment  how  harsh  that  word 
"  obey"  sounded,  then  wondered  she  had  thought 
it  would  be  so  easy  to  obey  one  she  loved 


20  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

as  she  loved  Henry^ — obedience  would  be  pleas- 
ure ;"  and  so  she  closed  the  book.  Her  nature 
was  very  timid.  She  had  little  strength  of  either 
body  or  mind,  but  she  had  much  affection,  a  gen- 
tle yielding  temper,  and  wished  to  do  right  in  aU 
things.  Her  husband  had  settled  a  handsome 
independence  upon  her  in  case  of  his  death ;  but 
the  idea  of  wanting  anything  while  he  lived  she 
had  put  far  from  her.  Although  induced  by  her 
selfish  aunt  to  promise  not  to  mention  her  fatal 
gift,  it  had  never  entered  into  her  head  that  she 
was  doing  wrong  in  keeping  a  secret  from  her 
husband. 

Six  months  had  elapsed  since  Geraldine  be- 
came the  wife  of  Henry  Leeson.  She  was  es- 
tabhshed  in  a  pretty  house  at  the  "  West  End ;" 
had  a  chariot  of  the  newest  build,  a  pair  of  un- 
exceptionable bays,  a  very  tall  footman,  and  a 
very  little  page  ;  went  sometimes  to  the  opera, 
presided  at  a  small  dinner  party,  and  assisted  at 
a  soiree,  with  infinite  propriety  ;  and  so  liberally 
had  her  husband  ministered  even  1o  her  fancies, 
that  she  had  only  spent  five  guineas  of  her  store. 
She  had  told  him  of  her  mother's  gift,  but  re- 
mained silent  as  to  her  aunt's.  Her  cousin  had 
come  to  town  to  "  keep  his  terms,"  and  her  aunt 
had  succeeded  her  mother  as  an  inmate  for  a 
month.  "  The  season,"  as  it  is  called,  had  com- 
menced ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  that  her  aunt's 
presence  damped  her  spirits,  she  would  have 
been  as  happy  as  any  wife  could  be.  Her  hus- 
band never  was  late  at  his  club,  and,  hke  most 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  21 

junior  partners  in  a  bank,  did  not  remain  at  his 
counting-house  longer  than  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessary. 

One  evening,  soon  after  the  aunt  and  her  niece 
had  taken  their  places  in  fi'ont  of  a  private  box  at 
Covent  Garden — for  they  did  not  move  in  the 
very  high  sphere  which  eschew  English  theatres 
altogether — Henry,  leaning  over  his  wife's  chair 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  Geraldine,  what  a  handsome 
chain !  I  have  not  seen  it  before.  Where  did 
you  get  it  T' 

"  I  bought  it,  love." 

"When?" 

"  Oh  !  let  me  see — this  week.'* 

"  This  week !  and  never  consulted  me  !  I 
hope,"  he  added,  looking  somewhat  serious, 
"  that  it  is  paid  for." 

"  Of  course  it  is,  Henry.      Why  do  you  ask  1" 

"  Because  that  chain  must  have  cost  twenty- 
five  guineas  at  least,  and,  you  know,  last  week 
you  shook  your  empty  purse  at  me,  and  I  put 
only  ten  guineas  into  it.  Where  did  you  get  the 
money '?" 


Her  aunt  contrived  to  press  her  foot,  as  a 
warning.  "  I  told  you  mamma  gave  me  ten 
guineas  when  I  left  home." 

"  But  you  told  me  how  you  spent  five  of  that 
at  Cheltenham.  We  young  bankers  understand 
subtraction." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  replied,  colouring  with  con- 
fusion, "  if  you  must  know,  mamma  made  me  up 
the  money,  as  I  fancied  the  chain." 


22  THE    PRIVATE    PURSK. 

Mr.  Leeson  bit  his  lip.  "Indeed!"  he  re- 
phed;   "  she  is  richer  than  I  fancied." 

"  It  does  not  need  a  mother  to  be  very  rich  to 
give  a  child  ten  guineas  even  for  such  a  toy  as 
this,"  she  said,  flinging  the  links  over  her  pretty 
shoulder. 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear;  but  riches  are  compa- 
rative. One  person  is  rich  with  a  pound,  another 
poor  with  a  thousand."  He  looked  serious,  even 
stern  for  a  moment,  as  if  something  very  unpleas- 
ant was  presented  to  his  mind;  and  then  his 
fine  animated  face  brightened  up,  and  he  added, 
"  I  hope  my  little  Geraldine  has  not  made  a  pri- 
vate purse!" 

She  could  not  reply ;  she  felt  agitated,  degra- 
ded; she  had  told  a  falsehood,  and  one  likely  to 
be  detected.  The  performance  passed  unheed- 
ed ;  she  tried  to  smile,  but,  instead  of  smihng, 
burst  into  tears.  Mr.  Leeson  had  not  been  long 
enough  married  to  slight  a  wife's  tears  ;  he  with- 
drew her  from  the  front,  and  thought  he  had 
spoken  harshly,  when  he  had  only  spoken  se- 
riously; he  caressed  and  apologised,  and  every 
affectionate  word  he  spoke  added  to  her  self- 
reproach.  Soon  after,  her  cousin  entered  the 
box ;  his  manner  was  only  that  of  most  anima- 
ted young  men,  light  and  careless,  with  an  occa- 
sional empressement,  rendered  more  striking  when 
contrasted  with  his  ordinary  trifling.  Still,  that 
manner  was  the  one,  of  all  others,  her  husband 
disliked  most.  Nor  had  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  inju- 
dicious hint  been  wanting,  to  increase  the  an- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  23 

tipathy  he  had  felt  towards  this  well-intentioned 
bnt  frivolous  young  man,  from  the  first.  Arthur 
Harewcll  used  a  cousin's  privilege  to  the  full; 
inquired — Henry  thought  more  tenderly  than 
was  necessary — after  her  health,  then  rallied 
her  on  her  seriousness,  talked  the  usual  quan- 
tity of  nonsense,  which  women,  who  know  any 
thing  of  the  world,  understand  to  be  matter  of 
course,  and  then  offered  some  observations  on 
her  dress.  She  complained  that  the  chain  had 
an  unsafe  clasp,  and  he  offered  to  take  it  to  the 
jeweller's  to  get  it  repaired — conveying  the  idea 
to  Henry's  mind  that  he  knew  where  it  had  been 
purchased.  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  who  hated  every 
one  of  the  Harewells,  did  not  fail  to  cast  in  as 
many  inuendoes  as  she  could,  to  annoy  the  young 
barrister,  who  had  too  much  tact  to  retort  on  an 
elderly  rich  relative,  yet  became  gradually  irrita- 
ted by  his  own  forbearance.  Geraldine  was  so 
unhappy  as  to  seem  constrained;  Henry  grew 
snappish  and  morose ;  and  the  only  one  of  the 
party  who  seemed  contented  with  the  evening's 
proceedings  was  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  Not  that  she 
acknowledged  a  wisli  to  make  any  one,  particu- 
larly her  god-child,  unhappy;  but,  like  all  other 
discontented  people,  she  did  not  quite  under- 
stand why  any  thing  in  this  world  should  go 
smoothly  forward,  and  it  was  consolatory  to  im- 
agine that  others  were  as  uncomfortable  as  her- 
self. There  are  persons  in  this  world  who  de- 
rive much  consolation  from  the  belief  that  many 
are  more  unhappy  than  themselves.     Geraldine 


24  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

was  Linacciistomecl  to  deception ;  as  long  as  the 
five-and -forty  guineas  had  lain  dormant  in  her 
desK,  there  was  no  visible  proof  of  their  existence, 
and  she  had  no  temptation  to  deceive  ;  but  the 
chain  coming  so  palpably  before  her  husband's 
eyes,  had  changed  altogether  the  nature  of  the 
case,  and  called  her  deceptive  powers  into  action. 
She  was,  however,  a  bad  actress,  and  felt  so. 
Her  impulses  were  good. 

"I  will  not,"  she  said,  "run  a  second  risk; 
I  will  return  my  aunt  her  twenty  guineas,  and 
not  suffer  myself  to  be  again  tempted :  I  was 
fortunate  to  get  off  so  well  last  night."  She 
took  out  the  money,  and  entered  her  aunt's  room. 

"  You  look  pale  enough,"  was  the  morning 
salutation  she  received;  "and  truly,  my  dear,  I 
am  not  astonished  at  it.  Mr.  Leeson's  condiLct 
was  very  harsh  to  you  last  nifjht,  and,  I  confess, 
I  thought  rude  to  me ;  yes,  dear,  rude  to  me- — 
to  fly  into  a  passion  about  a  trumpery  chain,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  he  was  not  consulted — to  ask  if 
my  niece  and  god-child  had  paid  for  what  she 
wore — to  inquire  how  she  got  the  money — taunt- 
ing you  with  your  want  of  fortune." 

"  Oh,  dear  aunt,  he  never  thought  of  tliat !" 

"  Permit  me  to  know  best,  if  you  please,  I\Irs. 
Leeson.  If  your  mother  had  done  as  she  ought, 
she  would  have  stood  out  for  piji-money,  and 
not  have  left  you  the  degrading  task  of  dunning 
your  husband  for  every  little  foolish  thing — turn- 
ing men  into  molly-cots — Ah  !  you  may  smile  if 
you  like,  Geraldine ;  the  phrase  is  not  very  ele- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  25 

gant,  but  it  is  very  expressive — you  will  allow 
that,  I  suppose.  However,  you  were  no  child 
of  mine,  or  I  would  have  managed  differently, 
and  taught  you  difterently.  Men  change,  my 
poor  girl ;  and  it  is  quite  right  for  a  woman  to 
provide  against  that  change." 

"By  a  large  stock  of  affection  1"  inquired 
Geraldine,  half  amused,  and  more  than  half 
awakened  by  her  aunt's  theory. 

"  No,  my  dear,  but  as  large  a  stock  of  cash 
as  she  can  muster.  Henry  makes  you  an  al- 
lowance for  house-keeping;  you  do  not  spend  it 
all,  I  hopel" 

"  No,  aunt;  he  has  giveu  me  great  credit  for 
good  management.  I  saved  nearly  five  pounds 
out  of  my  first  month's  allowance." 

*'  And  you  told  him  sol" 

'*  I  certainly  did.  Now,  my  dear  aunt,  why 
do  you  look  so  ]  Where  would  have  been  the 
pleasure  of  saving  without  his  praise  ?  I  saved 
five  pounds,  and  gave  it  him.' 

"  And  he  took  it?" 

"  Yes  ;   of  course  he  did." 

"  And  after  that  to  speak  so  meanly  about  the 
chain !  (which,  to  confess  the  truth,  was  a  bit  of 
extravagance ;  but  he  did  not  think  that) — a 
pretty  clear  proof  that  he  expects  you  to  consult 
him  on  ewnYy  inch  of  ribbon.  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Geraldine.  I  know  the  world,  and  I  know  that 
the  more  you  give  in,  the  more  you  may.  Why, 
you  do  not  expect  a  business-man,  such  as  Mr. 
Leeson  surely  is,  to  suffer  you  to  lay  out  his 


26  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

money  for  what  you  may  fancy? — he  know? 
how  money  grows  out  of  money,  too  well  for  that. 
No  ;  make  up  your  mind  ta  one  of  two  courses 
— either  be  content  to  sink  into  an  upper  ser- 
vant, spending  your  month's  allowance  upon 
the  house,  and  giving  in  your  honest  account, 
or  do  as  T  did — as  other  women  do — and  keep 
a  little  for  yourself;  you  do  not  know  how  yoii 
may  want  it;  and,  from  the  fuss  he  made  last 
night  about  that  stupid  chain — in  public,  too — 
I  think  you  may  very  easily  judge  that  he  in- 
tends to  draAV  the  purse-strings  tight ;  and  you 
looked  all  the  night  as  penitent  as  if  you  had 
committed  a  crime.  Well,  well,  you  will  know 
better.  I  once  knew  a  woman  who  manager!  to 
scrape  a  purse  together  so  cleverly,  that,  when 
her  husband  got  into  difficulties,  she  was  able  to 
provide  all  sorts  of  little  comforts  for  the  house, 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  creditors." 

"But  was  that  honest "?"  inquired  the  young 
wife,  "as  it  was  saved  out  of  his  means." 

"  But  surely  he  intended  it  to  have  been  spent  1" 

"  Yes,  very  likely,"  replied  Mrs.  Leeson,  who 
was  musing  on  her  husband's  rudeness;  and 
then  she  added,  "  Yet  such  a  system  destroys 
mutual  confidence." 

"My  poor  foolish  child!"  retorted  her  aunt, 
with  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head — "  My  poor 
foolish  child  !  you  do  not  surely  believe  that  your 
husband  tells  you  everything — makes  you  a  con- 
fidant !  A  handsome,  would-be-fashionable  young 
man  make  his  wife  his  confidant! — tell  her  every 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  27 

thing!  Why,  what  a  fool  you  must  be! — ah 
ah  !"  and  the  old  crackhng  laugh  grated  on  Ger- 
aldine's  heart.  "By  the  way,"  resumed  the  ad- 
viser, "  who  was  with  you  when  you  bought  that 
chain  r' 

"  My  cousin." 

"  Oh!  and  you  told  Mr.  Leeson  that,  too,  I 
suppose." 

"No,  I  did  not;  but  I  would  in  a  moment, 
for  I  saw  no  harm  in  it." 

"  Well  my  dear  he  ivould;  he's  as  jealous  as  a 
Turk.  I  would  not  wonder  he  thought  that 
Arthur  IJarewell  had  given  you  that  chain." 

"I  told  him  mamma  gave  me  the  money." 

"Oh!  ah!  so  you  did;  I  daresay  he  thought 
her  a  great  fool,  for  he  must  know  how  little  she 
has  to  spare ;  however,  dear,  there's  an  end  of 
it  now.  Take  my  advice — do  not  invite  Arthur 
to  the  house  yourself,  keep  what  money  you 
have  safely,  and  add  to  it  whenever  you  can. 
You'll  find  Henry,  with  all  his  love,  will  draw 
the  purse-strings  tighter  and  tighter  every  year  ; 
it's  always  the  way  with  those  business-men : 
and  men  of  independence  are  just  as  bad  in  the 
other  way,  they  draw  in  to  meet  their  own 
greedy  extravagance." 

Geraldine  was  so  confounded  by  the  variety 
of  new  ideas — the  suspicion  that  she  did  not  pos- 
sess her  husband's  confidence,  that  he  insulted 
her  by  his  jealousy,  that  let  her  be  as  confiding 
as  she  would,  she  would  meet  with  no  return, 
that  he  was,  or  would  be,  avaricious,  not  from 


28  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

want  but  caprice — all  caused  her  such  pain,  that 
she  retired  to  her  room  to  find  rehef  in  tears, 
without  returning  the  remainder  of  her  money. 
If  she  had  preconceived  notions  upon  the  subject 
— if  her  mind  had  been  decided  that,  let  her  hus- 
band''s  conduct  be  what  if  would,  her  duties,  sol- 
emnly pledged  at  the  altar,  remained  the  same, 
all  would  have  been  well.  But,  poor  thing,  she 
had  no  fixed  principles  to  build  on.  Her  cousin 
called  a  couple  of  hours  after,  and  she  did  not 
ask  him  to  dinner.  When  her  husband  returned 
he  found  her  languid  and  cold,  with  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  offended  dignity;  whereas  he, 
on  the  other  hand,  felt  constrained  and  afflicted 
at  a  duplicity  he  had  discovered  for  the  first  time. 
If  either  had  confided  in  the  other,  how  much 
after  misery  would  have  been  spared  to  both  ! 

Mr.  Leeson  heard  from  the  footman  that  Mr. 
II  are  well  had  called,  and  thought  it  was  odd  his 
wife  did  not  as  usual  mention  his  name,  with 
those  of  two  or  three  other  visiters  ;  then  he  ask- 
ed her  abruptly,  *'  Why  she  had  not  detained 
her  cousin  Arthur  to  dinner  1" 

Her  aunt's  insinuation  as  to  her  husband's 
jealousy  immediately  occurred  to  her,  and  she 
stammered  and  blushed  so  as  to  recall  vividly  to 
his  mind  the  young  man's  frivolous  manner  on 
the  preceding  evening;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  both  felt  exceedingly  unhappy. 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  29 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Mr.  Leeson 
suffered  a  good  deal  of  anxiety ;  for  it  so  hap- 
pened he  had  discovered  that  his  wife's  mother 
was  exceedingly  distressed  for  money  before  she 
liad  quitted  his  house  to  return  to  her  own  ;  and, 
with  a  deUcacy  which  deserved  increased  confi- 
dence, he  had  placed  a  sum  at  her  disposal  as 
she  was  leavino:  London,  intreatino;  her  not  to 
mention  it  to  Geraldine,  lest  the  shadow  of  ob- 
ligation might  give  her  pain.  The  old  lady 
thanked  him  with  tears  of  gratitude,  confessing 
tliat  she  had  wished  to  borrow  a  few  pounds 
from  her  daughter,  but  thought  it  better  not,  lest 
it  miojht  lead  to  uncomfortable  feelinos.  This 
proved  to  him  that  his  beloved  wife — she  whom 
he  loved  with  all  the  passion  of  a  strong,  truthfid, 
and  fervent  affection — she  in  whose  simple  purity 
he  trusted,  and  would  have  trusted  for  ever — had 
deceived  him  by  a  mean  falsehood.  If  she  had 
not  returned  him  the  five  pounds  already  men- 
tioned, he  would  again  have  taxed  her  with 
forming  a  private  purse,  but  that  act  militated  so 
strongly  against  such  a  supposition,  that  he  re- 
pudiated the  idea  for  one  far  more  painful — he 
believed  slie  had  either  accepted  the  chain  from 
her  cousin,  or  borrowed  the  money  from  him. 

Henry  Leeson's  nature  was  none  of  the  softest. 
He  entertained  the  highest  possible  sense  of  fe- 
male honour.     Whatever  the  fact  might  be,  he 


30  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

boasted  of  always  making  his  affections  subject 
to  his  reason.  And  on  that  same  evening-,  when 
they  were  alone,  he  said,  after  about  twenty  min- 
utes had  been  spent  in  a  restless  and  painful  dia- 
logue, in  which  neither  were  explicit,  yet  both 
saw  that  something  remained  untold — he  said, 
sternly,  for  the  fair  and  gentle  face  he  looked 
upon  had  lost  the  radiance  of  truth,  *'  Thus 
much,  Geraldine — thus  much;  beware  at  and 
attempt  to  deceive  me ;  for,  if  you  do  so  once, 
you  will  never  do  so  a  second  time." 

The  young  wife  wept,  and  wept  bitterly ;  but 
tliough  only  four-and-twenty  hours  had  elapsed 
since  he  dried  her  tears  so  anxiously,  yet  then 
he  had  not  thought,  and  calculated,  and  placed 
one  circumstance  with  another,  to  see  how  they 
tallied  ;  and  he  had  clung  to  the  hope  that  she 
would  have  fi-ankly  told  the  truth  when  they  were 
alone — he  had  pictured  her  with  her  pale  weep- 
ing face,  he  had  framed  the  gentle  counsel,  and 
beard  the  fond  promise  ;  he  had  hoped  even  that 
she  had  gone  in  debt  rather  than  have  been 
obliged  to  any  man  for  a  golden  gift,  which  she 
feared  to  confess.  Her  aunt's  extreme  niggard- 
liness prevented  the  supposition  that  she  had  be- 
stowed anything  upon  her  save  what  even  misers 
{j-ive — advice.  Yet  little  did  he  imagine  what 
the  nature  of  that  advice  would  be.  Young  men 
in  general  are  careful  enouo^h  as  to  what  male 
society  their  wives  mingle  with ;  but  they  ought 
to  be  even  more  careful  as  to  the  female.  A 
woman   is   on   her    guard    amongst   men,    but 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  31 

{imoiiT?t  women  her  heart  and  ears  are  both 
open ;  yet  what  pernicious  notions  may  she  not 
imbibu  from  that  dangerous  class  of  persons 
called  "  women  of  the  world." 

It  would  be  almost  impossible  to  trace  how  one 
small  suspicion  grew  out  of  another  ;  how  Geral- 
dine's  heart  heaved  and  ached  under  the  con- 
sciousness that  her  husband  regarded  every  tiling 
she  did  with  a  prejudiced  eye,  and  listened  to 
her  words  with  a  jealous  ear ;  how,  having  asked 
him  for  soma  fancy  of  hers,  when  he  was  in  a 
myod  not  to  grant  a  favour,  he  refused;  and  her 
aunt,  who  unfortunately  happened  to  be  present, 
took  occasion  to  exult  in  the  truth  of  her  evil 
prophecy. 

"  You  see,  Geraldine,  I  was  right ;  every  Inis- 
band  grows  selfish  sooner  or  later ;  and  a  poor 
woman  who  has  no  spirit  is  sure  to  be  trampled 
on — never  has  a  shilhng  to  spend  on  herself,  un- 
less she  manages.'''* 

Geraldine  had  no  broad  ideas  as  to  the  duties 
of  wedded  life.  She,  happily  for  herself,  had 
never  thought  of  discussing  the  rights  of  women 
apart  from  the  rights  of  men.  She  did  not  seek 
to  disturb  the  beautiful  harmony  of  natui'e,  by 
setting  up  the  weak  against  the  strong — by  en- 
deavouring to  reason  a  woodbine  into  becoming 
an  oak ;  but  she  did  think  sometimes  that  as  the 
oak  did  not  afford  much  generous  support  to  the 
woodbine,  the  woodbine  might  manage  a  little 
artificial  support  for  itself.  So  she  fell,  by  de- 
grees, into    her  aunt's  plan.     She   stinted   the 


32  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

house  to  fill  lier  private  purse,  and  tliis  narrow- 
ness rendered  his  home  anj  thing  but  comforta- 
ble to  her  husband ;   but  even  this  was  not  the 
worst.     She,  who  had  felt  and  mourned  over  her 
first  untruth  with    so    much   real    bitterness  of 
spirit,  had  become  accustomed  to  falsehood  ;   it 
was  necessary  to  tell  one  little   lie  to  hide   an- 
other ;  the  holy  beauty  of  truth  had   altogether 
departed  from  her.     Whenever  her  conscience 
reproached  her,  she  whispered  to  it  "  that  she 
could  not  help  it — that  if  Henry  had  continued 
the  Henry  he  was  at  first,  it  would  have  been  dif- 
ferent— that  it  was  his  fault — that  he  was  severe 
— that  he  had  grown  suspicious — that  as  he  often 
blamed   her  without  a  cause,  she  might  as  well 
have  a  little  of  her  own  way  as  not — that  he  was 
frightfully  stingy."     It  was  impossible  for  any 
one  to  have  proceeded  in  this  course,  Avithout  be- 
coming morally  degraded ;   it  is  wonderful  how 
slowly  yet  surely  this  degradation  progresses  ; 
until,  when  a  review  of  the  past  takes  place,  we 
are  astonished  that  what  tcere  principles  should 
now  be  called  prejudices^  and  marvel  at  our  past 
simplicity.     Such  were  generally  Geraldine's  re- 
flections.    She  almost  smiled  to  think   how  she 
had  blushed  and  trembled  at  an  equivocation; 
but  such  smiles  are  only  as  gleams  of  sunshine 
on  a  sepulchre,  and  when  they  pass,  woe,  woe, 
for  the  rottenness  within  ! 

Arthur  Hare  well  always  came  to  London  in 
term  time,  and  sometimes  remained  until  it  had 
been  long  over.     Henry  Leeson  would  hai'dly 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  33 

confess  to  himself  that  he  regarded  him  with  sus- 
picion ;  and  yet,  though  they  frequented  the  same 
club,  walked  together,  went  to  the  theatres  to- 
gether, and  Arthur  was  the  constant  guest  of  his 
table,  Mr.  Leeson  was  any  thing  but  comfortable 
in  his  society. 

In  indulging  this  feeling,  he  did  his  wife  gross 
injustice.  She  loved  her  husband,  and  practised 
no  deception  towards  him,  except  on  the  one 
point ;  but  it  would  have  been  next  to  impossible 
to  convince  him  of  this.  She  was  universally 
admired  ;  her  lovehness  was  matured  into  beauty. 
She  was  never  absent  from  her  husband's 
thoughts  for  ten  minutes  together ;  and  yet  he 
was  the  only  person  who  appeared  indifferent  to 
her. 

Her  memory  was  not  always  true  to  her  false- 
hood :  she  often  betrayed  herself.  She  had  lost 
her  husband's  respect.  The  vase  was  broken, 
and  though  much  of  the  perfume  remained,  he 
did  not  seek  to  treasure  it,  but  rather  desired  to 
have  the  power  of  turning  fi'om  it  altogether: 
each  had  a  separate  interest.  And  when  he 
looked  upon  the  only  child  God  had  given  them 
— a  girl — his  heart  sunk  within  him.  "  For," 
he  said,  "  she  will  grow  up  a  liar  like  her 
mother!"  To  do  Geraldine  justice,  ^he  en- 
deavoured, strange  as  it  may  seem,  to  impress 
her  daughter  with  a  love  of  truth ;  but  her  ideas 
of  right  and  wrong,  in  their  bravest  and  highest 
sense,  were  confused — and  precept  in  education 
is  nothing  worth  without  practice. 
3 


34  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

She  had  not  seen  her  mother  since  the  birth 
of  her  child,  as  she  had  been  abroad  from  ill 
health.  Her  amit  visited  her  but  too  often,  for 
she  became,  unfortunately,  the  depositary  of  her 
secrets,  and  still  advised  her  to  keep  her  purse 
closer  than  ever,  as  be  sure  her  child,  as  slie  grew 
up,  would  want  so  many  things  its  father  would 
not  give  it. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  particularise  the  va- 
rious instances  of  mistrust  that  occasioned  so 
many  bickerings  between  Geraldine  and  her  hus- 
band ;  but  they  had  led  to  this  result — that,  even 
when  she  spoke  the  truth,  her  husband  did  not 
believe  her.  A  disbelief  in  her  truth  as  regarded 
money  matters,  was  not  the  only  doubt  that 
passed  through  and  occasionally  took  possession 
of  Henry's  mind.  He  fastened  upon  her  a  care- 
less impropriety  of  conduct,  which  was  altogether 
apart  from  her  nature  ;  and  never  did  she  wear 
the  chain  which  occasioned  her  first  act  of  dissim- 
ulation, without  its  rendering  him  silent  and  mo- 
rose. At  last  her  mother,  whom  much  sickness 
had  made  a  wiser  woman,  came  to  visit  them ; 
and  so  great  was  the  change  apparent  in  both, 
that  she  resolved  to  probe  its  cause  as  far  as  she 
was  able. 


THE     PRIVATE     PUKSE.  35 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"  How  is  it,  Geraldine,"  said  her  mother  to 
Mrs.  Leeson — *'  how  is  it  that  you  and  Henry 
are  so  changed  in  your  manner  to  each  other '? 
Four  years  ago,  I  left  you  all  affection ;  now,  I 
find  you  hardly  civil — this  is  very  bad." 

"  It  is,"  rephed  her  daughter  ;  "but  it  is  not 
my  faidt.  Henry  is  perpetually  hisulting,  by 
asking  me  the  most  frivolous  questions,  and  then 
sneering  at  my  replies.  He  never  believes  a 
word  I  say.  It  was  only  yesterday  he  took  our 
child  on  his  knee,  and  read  her  such  a  homily 
on  the  beauty  of  truth  that  she  looked  at  him, 
poor  innocent,  in  fear  and  astonishment,  without 
understanding  his  meaning,  and  then  he  looked 
at  me.  Oh  !  mother,  I  wish  I  had  never  mar- 
ried. It  is  very  true  what  my  aunt  says — ^you 
never  can  know  how  a  man  will  turn  out." 

"  Your  aunt,  my  dear,  is  a  very  bad  counsellor. 
I  fear  she  has  caused  mischief  between  you." 

"  Oh,  no  !  but  she  told  me  how  it  would  be. 
AVhy,  before  we  were  six  months  married,  he 
took  me  to  task  about  a  chain  !  But  that  is 
nothing;  I  assure  you  he  is  niggardly  in  the  ex- 
treme." 

"  You  must  be  wrong,  Geraldine,"  said  her 
mother,  earnestly  ;  "  indeed,  you  must  be  wrong. 
When  I  left  you  to  go  abroad — though  I  did  not 
tell  you  so,  lest  it  would  make  you  unhappy — my 
finances  were  deplorably  reduced.      He  ques- 


36  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

tioned  me  upon  them  with  the  greatest  delicacy ; 
and  when  he  found  how  I  was  circumstanced, 
as  he  was  handing  me  into  the  carriage,  he 
shpped  a  purse  containing  a  hundred  guineas 
into  my  hand." 

Geraldine  felt  her  colour  change.  "  But  how 
did  he  find  that  out,  in  the  first  instance  T'  she 
inquired,  after  a  pause. 

"  1  really  do  not  know,"  rephed  her  mother  ; 
"  but  you  remember,  dear,  I  was  always  a  very 
bad  dissembler.  Your  aunt  says  I  can  be  seen 
through  in  a  moment,  which  I  dare  say  is  the 
case,  and  I  do  not  care  about  it.  What  does  it 
matter  when  one  has  nothing  to  conceal  !  I 
never  led  him  to  suppose  that  you  had  a  penny, 
or  that  I  had  sixpence  beyond  my  small  annuity ; 
so  I  confessed  that  when  I  came  to  pay  you  the 
bridal  visit,  I  had  not  five  pounds  iu  the  world." 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  Geraldine,  the 
falsehood  she  had  fi-amed  as  to  her  mother  giving 
her  ten  pounds  towards  the  purchase  of  the 
chain,  and  the  effect  it  must  have  had  upon  her 
husband's  mind,  flashing  upon  her  Ibr  the  first 
time.  "  Oh  !  mamma,  why  did  you  not  tell  me 
this  before  1  What  must  my  husl^and  have 
thought  of  me?' 

"Thought  of  yoM,  my  dear?"  replied  her 
mother,  not  understanding  her  allusion.  "  Why, 
what  had  you  to  do  with  it  ?  He  knew,  as  I 
have  told  you,  perfectly  well  that  you  had  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  the  matter ;  but  I  called 
it  very  handsome  of  him — very  handsome  in- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  37 

deed."  And  the  lady  resumed  the  perusal  of 
her  book,  thinking  it  better  to  let  this  anecdote 
of  her  son-in-laAv's  generosity  operate  of  icself 
upon  her  daughter.  Geraldine  felt  the  blood 
rush  to  her  head,  and  in  another  moment  she 
was  chill  and  trembhng.  She  went  to  her  own 
room,  and  traced  back  circumstance  to  circum- 
stance. She  saw  clearly  that  on  that  evening 
she  must  have  appeared  guilty  of  duphcity.  She 
remembered  her  husband's  deep-seated  and  con- 
stant love  and  aftection  previous  to  that  event ; 
how  her  every  wish  was  anticipated  by  him. 
She  remembered  how  pleased,  how  happy  he. 
looked,  when  she  gave  him  the  five  pounds  she 
had  saved  from  her  housekeeping ;  and  she 
could  not  but  acknowledge  that  all  the  satisfac- 
tion she  had  received  from  her  secret  peculations 
had  been  gall  and  wormwood,  in  comparison  to 
the  approving  smiles  which  she  now  knew  how 
she  had  at  first  forfeited.  Truly  her  tears  were 
many  and  sincere.  She  would  willingly  have 
retraced  her  steps  had  she  known  how ;  but  she 
felt  she  had  not  strength  to  do  so.  She  fancied 
confession  more  humiliating  than  deception ; 
and,  moreover,  Henry's  late  unkindnesses  were 
so  numerous  and  so  severe,  that  she  forgot,  when 
recalling  them,  how  much  was  owing  to  the  sus- 
picions she  herself  had  created. 

She  resolved  to  confide  in  her  mother  the  par- 
ticulars regarding  the  chain,  hoping  she  should 
be  able  to  prevail  on  her  to  say,  if  she  was  ques- 
tioned on  the  subject,  that  she  had  borrowed  the 


30  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

money  to  lend  her ;  for,  as  I  have  said  before, 
lies  yield  ample  fi-uitage.  She  had  of  late  men- 
tioned some  of  her  perplexities  to  her  cousin  ; 
and  here  I  am  forced  to  pause,  to  observe  that 
one  of  the  most  foolish  acts  of  a  young  woman's 
life  is  the  confiding-  in  any  man,  either  what  she 
fears  to  intrust  to  her  husband,  or  any  complaint 
against  him.  It  is  almost  always  sure  to  betray 
itself;  and  if  it  does  not,  the  step  is  so  imprudent, 
so  likely  to  lead  to  results  affecting  her  character, 
and  certainly  to  affect  her  conduct,  that  of  all 
things  it  ought  to  be  the  most  dreaded,  the  most 
avoided.  It  is  seldom  that  a  woman,  resolved  to 
bear  and  forbear,  cannot  succeed  in  winning  her 
husband's  friendship  in  the  end.  When  this  is 
really  impossible — which  I  think  can  only  be  the 
case  when  a  man  is  thoroughly  unprincipled — 
may  God  help  her  !  It  is  wiser  for  her  not  to 
complain  of  him  she  has  sworn  to  "love,  honour, 
and  obey."  Her  own  sex  are,  with  a  few  most 
honourable  exceptions,  too  feeble  for  friendship ; 
and  where  there  is  youth  and  beauty,  men  are 
dangerous  friends.  It  is  wiser,  then,  I  repeat, 
under  such  circumstances,  for  a  woman  to  con- 
ceal her  sorrows,  and  to  alleviate  them  by  active 
and  duteous  employment,  rather  than  by  idle  and 
dangerous  repinings.  If  scandal  catches  her 
character,  injury  will  be,  at  best,  sustained  in 
setting  it  free  ;  and  the  wretchedness  of  having 
been  doubted,  when  forgotten  by  friends  (if  it 
ever  be,)  is  never  uni'emembered  by  her  upon 
whom  suspicion  has  rested.     The  very  reputa- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  39 

tion  of  having  a  male  friend  is  injurious  to  a 
young  English  wife.  It  is  only  a  vigorous  mind 
that  can  bear  being  thus  shut  in  with  itself.  A 
firm  and  noble  one  will  bear  it,  because  it  is  right ; 
and  perhaps,  after  years  of  firm  endurance,  be 
rewarded  by  the  friendship  it  has  so  richly  de- 
served— the  friendship  of  him  in  whom  a  young 
heart  trusted. 

Geraldine  loved  her  cousin  really  as  a  sister 
loves  a  brother ;  but  no  more.  She  had  never 
bestowed  upon  him  an  atom  of  affection  that  she 
need  have  blushed  to  own  even  to  her  husband ; 
and  though  her  cousin  may  be  acquitted  of  all 
premeditated  wrong  towards  her,  he  was  not 
averse  to  being  rallied  on  the  preference  evmced 
for  him  by  his  lovely  relative.  He  assured  every 
one  "  that  it  was  a  brother  and  sister  affection," 
— that,  "it  was  impossible  it  could  be  anything 
else,  as  they  had  been  children  together  " — that 
*'  Geraldine  was  too  devoted  to  her  husband  to 
indulge  even  a  friendship  for  any  one — except 
her  cousin."  But  he  did  not  say  these  things 
frankly,  and  seriously,  and  boldly,  as  it  becomes 
a  man  of  high  honour  to  do  ;  he  said  them  with 
a  smile  or  a  shrug,  or  a  dolce  sort  of  self-satisfied 
expression,  which  made  the  careless  young  men 
of  his  acquaintance  declare  him  a  "  lucky  fellow," 
and  married  men  say  "  that  Leeson  should  look 
after  his  wife  ;"  while  matrons  and  old  maids 
began  to  throw  somethino^  of  si<?nificance  into 
their  countenances  when  they  observed  that 
"  they  had  met  Mrs.  Leeson  and  her  handsome 


40  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

cousin  in  the  square  ;"  and  some  were  malicious 
enough  to  forget  to  add  that  she  was  accompa- 
nied also  by  her  child  or  a  female  friend. 

Most  unhappily,  her  husband  had  become  so 
irritable  and  suspicious,  that  she  excused  herself 
for  her  constant  deceptions.  He  had  long  found 
it  impossible  to  distinguish  between  her  truth  and 
falsehood ;  he  had  become  unjust  to  her  virtues  ; 
for  she  was  a  most  devoted  parent,  while  he  be- 
lieved that  she  was  indifferent  to  her  child. 
When  she  told  the  story  of  the  chain — ^that  origin 
of  all  the  evil — to  her  mother,  the  old  lady,  in- 
stead of  going  at  once  to  her  son-in-law,  ex- 
plaining it  to  him,  and  showing  that  the  advice 
of  her  aunt  had  caused  her  to  step  aside  from  the 
straight  path — that  it  was  she  who  urged  her  to 
form  a  private  purse — and  by  this  odious  system 
undermined  their  mutual  confidence  ;  instead  of 
doing  this,  she  set  herself  to  frame  a  "  reason  for 
the  lie."  And  why?  Because  the  little  girl 
was  the  aunt's  god-child,  and  she  solaced  her- 
self, by  determining  that  "  she  would  certainly 
leave  her  all  she  had,  if  she  were  not  displeased  ; 
but  if  Geraldine  broke  her  word — if  she  forgot 
that  she  had  promised  not  to  tell — all  the  previous 
concealments  would  have  been  made  in  vain,  and 
they  would  lose  the  property.  Henry  would  be 
sure  to  '  fly  out '  about  it,  and  what  would  be 
the  end  of  itl"  The  good  lady  quite  forgot  that 
Geraldine  had  promised  to  conceal  the  gift  from 
her,  as  well  as  from  her  husband  ;  but  her  ideas 
of  right  and  wrong  could  all  be  set  aside  by  in- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE,  41 

terest ;  we  have  wonderful  tendernesses  towards 
those  who  break  their  words  for  our  especial 
sakes.  Geraldine  was,  in  point  of  fact,  inca- 
pacitated, in  the  sight  of  God,  from  making  the 
promise  her  aunt  required  of  her,  on  the  morning 
of  her  marriage  ;  because  the  oath,  so  important 
and  so  engrossing,  which  she  had  taken  at  the 
altar,  virtually  delegated  her  husband  the  depos- 
itary of  her  acts,  thoughts,  and  secrets. 

How  despicable  a  picture  of  human  nature  does 
this  perpetual  bowing  down  to  Mammon  portray  ! 
and  how  vain  and  insignificant  does  it  appear, 
when  contrasted  with  so  high,  so  holy  a  thing  as 
truth  !  Oh  !  if  those  who  are  heedless  of  words 
and  their  import,  did  but  know  the  inestimable 
value  of  this  "  bright  ornament  " — if  they  had 
but  traced,  as  I  have  done  during  my  pilgrimage 
of  observation  through  life,  the  cares,  and  toils, 
and  tangled  weariness  that  must  follow  in  the 
train  of  falsehood,  however  small  it  may  appear 
at  first — if  they  could  witness  the  contempt  that 
dogs  the  liar  to  a  despised  grave — if  they  could 
see  the  family  disunions,  the  heart-beatings  and 
heart-breakings,  originating  in  an  untruth,  no 
larger  than  that  grain  of  mustard-seed  that  be- 
came an  outspreading  tree — if  they  could  be 
brought  to  feel  the  base,  mean,  paltry  cowardice 
of  a  lie — how  earnestly  they  would  pray  to  be 
delivered  from  its  insidious  temptation  ! 

Geraldine' s  mother,  1  have  already  said,  was  ex- 
actly one  of  those  who  had  neither  been  educated 
to  become  a  mother,  nor  in  the  knowledge  to  teach 


42 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 


the  duties  of  domestic  life  to  her  child.  She  was, 
like  scores  of  others,  weak,  warm,  and  as  brain- 
less as  a  woman  could  well  be,  who  went  through 
the  etiquettes  of  life  with  propriety  and  exactness. 
She  thought  herself  acting  with  extraordinary 
tact  and  discretion,  when  she  entered  the  small 
library  where  Mr.  Leeson  sat  by  himself  when  at 
home  in  the  evening,  and,  shutting  the  door  with 
a  peculiarly  silent  and  mysterious  air,  asked  if  she 
might  intrude  upon  him  for  a  few  moments.  He 
placed  a  chau*  for  her,  and,  laying  down  his 
joook,  prepared  to  listen. 

Henry  Leeson  was  more  changed  than  men 
usually  are  in  years  so  few,  and  yet  he  dressed 
better,  wtis  quite  as  handsome,  when  in  society 
conversed  more  fluently,  many  thought  more 
agreeably,  for  a  dash  of  vinegar  curdled  the  oil, 
and  rendered  him  pungent  and  racy.  But  his 
features  had  lost  their  affectionate,  confiding, 
easy  expression  ;  his  face  had  grown  sharp  as  a 
lawyer's  seeking  flaws  in  an  indictment;  he 
could  not  sit  for  five  minutes  looking  straight  for- 
ward, but  twisted  his  eyes  to  see  sideways,  and 
his  head  to  look  behind — he  had  grown  suspi- 
cious. 

The  old  lady  had  a  difficult  card  to  play,  and, 
of  course,  played  it  badly,  floundering  through 
muddy  sentences,  until  at  last  she  ventured  to 
regret  "  that  her  dear  Harry  had  not  been  in  the 
drawing-room — he  used  to  be  so  fond  of  music 
— and  she  had  prevailed  on  Geraldine  to  sing ; 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  43 

and  Arthur  Harewell  said  he  had  never  heard 
her  in  better  voice." 

Mr.  Leeson  muttered  something  about  a  nevr 
book,  and  Arthur  understanding  music  better 
than  he  did,  as  he  heard  more  of  it.  And 
this  was  answered  by  an  observation,  "  that 
more  was  the  pity."  And  then  the  gentleman 
sat,  and  the  lady  fidgetted  through  a  long  pause 
— until,  with  tears  of  very  sincere  grief,  she  de- 
clared, in  her  own  simple  way,  her  regrets  that 
two  so  much  attached  as  her  dear  son  and  daugh- 
ter "  were  " — (Mr.  Leeson  shook  his  head) — 
"  had  been,"  then  substituted  the  sorrowing  mo- 
ther— were  now  so  estranged  "  without  any 
cause." 

Mr.  Leeson  stiffly  said,  that  "  if  there  had  not 
been  cause,  there  would  have  been  no  estrange- 
ment— the  fault  was  none  of  his." 

The  old  lady  hit  upon  one  sensible  obseiTa- 
tion  by  chance — "  that  in  quarrels  matrimonial, 
both  parties  were  generally  to  blame." 

He  bowed ;  and  answered,  "  It  might  be  so,  in 
a  degree." 

**  For  instance,"  she  continued,  "  you  were 
very  angry  with  her  long  ago,  I  find,  about  a 
foolish  chain  ;  and  really,  Harry,  dear,  you  had 
no  reason." 

"  The  chain  was  in  itself  as  unoffending,"  he 
rephed,  "  as  trinkets  generally  are  ;  but  I  had 
reason.  She  told  me  a  falsehood  as  to  her 
means  of  purchase.  The  chain  was  a  gift ;  yet 
she  assured  me  she  bought  it.     I  have  but  too 


44  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

good  reason  to  remember  it,  as  the  commence- 
ment of  all  our  misery.  Why,  she  even  used 
your  name  as  the  giver  of  part  of  the  purchase- 
money." 

"  And  so  I  was,"  murmured  forth  the  feeble- 
minded woman,  unable  to  raise  her  eyes;  but 
keeping-  down  the  truth  by  the  weight  of  her  sis- 
ter's riches." 

"Nay!"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  could  that  be, 
when  you  yourself But  you  must  remem- 
ber certain  passages  which  prevent  a  possibility 
of  that." 

"  She  wished  so  for  the  chain,"  said  the  old 
lady,  "  that  I  borrowed  ten  pounds  to  make  up 
the  money." 

Mr.  Leeson  rose  fi'om  his  seat  in  wrathfid  in- 
dignation, and  but  that  the  being  before  him  was 
a  frail,  aged  woman,  could  not  have  contained 
himself.  "  You  really  must  excuse  me  for  say- 
ing I  doubt  this.  I  should,  indeed,  grieve  to  feel 
that  those  grey  hairs  were  dishonoured  by  a 
falsehood,  to  screen  a  child  who  has  no  feeling 
for  herself. 

Self-degradation  forced  itself  upon  the  feeble- 
minded mother,  and  she  only  said  that  she  hoped 
he  "  would  permit  her  still  farther  to  explain." 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  dechne  any 
future  conversation  upon  this  subject.  When  I 
married  Geraldine,  I  imagined  I  read  in  the 
brightness  of  her  sunny  face  the  brightness  of 
truth.  I  loved  her  with  the  entire  fulness  of  my 
heart.     I  would  have  trusted  her  with  my  life  ;  1 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  45 

had  trusted  her  with  more — for  every  man  when 
he  marries  trusts  his  wife  with  his  honour.  I 
pictured  long  years  of  enduring  affection  ;  and, 
above  all,  in  return  for  the  most  devoted  love 
that  man  can  feel  towards  woman,  I  asked  for 
her  confidence — her  unbroken  confidence.  No- 
thing else  could  satisfy  me.  It  must  be  frank — 
spontaneous — untainted.  My  conviction  is,  that 
UNMITIGATED  TRUTH  is  tilt  strongliolcl  of  domes- 
tic happiness.  She  kneiv  that  such  was  my  opi- 
nion ;  she  had  heard  me  say  a  hundred  times 
that  sooner  or  later  sin  followed  concealment.  I 
did  not  want  my  wife  to  appeal  to  me  on  every 
occasion,  or  feel  it  necessary  to  render  an  account 
of  her  personal  expenses  ;  such  details  are  irk- 
some to  a  man  ;  but  I  expected  that  she  should 
have  no  interest  apart  from  mine — no  expendi- 
ture that  was  to  be  considered  private — no  steal- 
ing from  a  house  purse,  to  put  into  one  called, 
for  distinction's  sake,  '  her  own.'  Mine  was  at 
all  times  open  to  her  hand.  If  I  urged  upon  her 
the  investigation  of  accounts,  it  was  only  to  lead 
her  to  those  habits  of  exactness  which  are  inse- 
parable from  sound  domestic  management.  I 
remember  how  my  heart  beat  with  joy  when  she 
brought  me  the  savings  of  her  early  housekeep- 
ing ;  if  it  had  been  thousands,  instead  of  pounds, 
I  could  not  have  rejoiced  more  sincerely  ;  it  was 
a  proof  of  frankness  on  the  very  point  upon  which 
I  had  depended  so  much.  I  felt  I  had  a  sweet 
confiding  friend,  and  that  our  interests  were  the 
same.     How  soon  this  changed,  I  also  well  re- 


46  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

member" He  paused;  and  then  abrupt- 
ly added,  "  What  need  she  have  denied  that  her 
cousin  Arthur  gave  her  that  chain  ?" 

"  Indeed,"  exclaimed  her  mother,  earnestly ; 
"  indeed,  indeed,  you  do  her  wrong;  Arthur  ne- 
ver gave  it  her.  If  you  have  for  so  long  a  time 
indulged  this  injustice,  no  wonder  you  have 
made  her  and  yourself  so  wretched." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  replied  Mr.  Leeson,  calm 
even  to  bitterness,  "  I  know  he  did  ;  and  in  the 
gift,  or  the  taking,  there  was  no  sin ;  but  there 
was  sin  in  the  lie.  It  destroyed  my  confidence 
in  her ;  it  implanted  the  vile  weed  suspicion  in 
my  bosom ;  and  ever  since,  as  if  a  spell  were 
round  her,  she  has  heaped  duplicity  upon  dupli- 
city, until  now  I  could  not  believe  truth  to  be 
truth  coming  fi-om  her  li])s."  It  was  most  pain- 
ful to  observe  the  agitation  of  his  feehngs  speak- 
ing through  his  eloquent  face.  "  I  believe,"  he 
added,  "  I  hope  and  trust  she  is  free  of  all  other 
sin  ;  I  hope  it ;  I — I — believe  it ;  but  I  cannot 
believe  her.  It  was  only  this  very  day  I  came 
to  the  determination  of  removing  our  child  from 
an  influence  which  must  in  the  end  destroy  her, 
as  it  has  destroyed  her  mother." 

"  You  are  not  surely  going  to  be  guilty  of  the 
cruelty  of  taking  her  child  from  her  !"  ejaculated 
its  grandmother  ;  "  you  cannot  be  in  earnest. 
What  will  even  her  friends  think  1  Oh  !  Henry, 
you  would  not  brand  my  child  as  unfit  to  be  a 
mother  !     What  would  the  world  say  ?" 

"  Madam,"    he   replied,   "  there   is  a  higher 


47  THE    PRIVATE    PUKSE. 

tribunal  than  that,  where  parents  will  be  called 
upon  to  give  an  account  of  the  children  commit- 
ted to  their  care.  Mine  is  already  practised  in 
deception,  If  1  say  one  thing,  and  my  wife 
teaches  another,  what  can  be  expected  but  that 
our  child  will  in  her  turn  deceive  us  both?" 

"  You  are  too  severe  ;  indeed,  you  are,"  reite- 
rated the  poor  lady,  who  had  altogether  lost  sight 
of  her  first  object  in  this  fresh  trouble,  and  did 
not  seem  to  understand  how  much  she  had  add- 
ed to  the  evil  feeling  she  thought  to  obliterate  by 
her  poor  subterfuge.  "  Oh  !  Henry,  dear  Henry, 
remember  how  you  loved  her  !" 

"  If,"  answered  the  afflicted  husband,  "  if  I 
could  forget  that,  I  should  not  suffer  as  I  do." 

"  Had  she  been  a  faithless  wife,  you  could  not 
punish  her  more  severely  than  you  propose  to 
do." 

"  There  are  various  kinds  of  infidelity  not  re- 
cognized by  law,"  he  replied.  "  If  I  believed 
her  guilty  in  the  sense  you  mean,  she  shoiUd  not 
shelter  for  a  moment  here ;  and  yet  there  are 
men,  who,  with  less  show  of  cause,  have  brand- 
ed their  wives.  Now,  do  not  agitate  yourself  on 
that  score  ;  I  make  no  charge  against  her.  I 
believe  her  pure  ;  but  where  is  the  tender  faith, 
the  confiding  love,  the  truth,  that  should  be 
the  woman's  throne.  However,  my  dream  is 
past ;  my  resolution  taken.  I  will  do  my  best 
to  prevent  any  man  being  deceived  by  my  child, 
as  I  have  been  deceived  by  her.  You  are,  per- 
haps, the  most  fit  person  to  tell  your  daughter  of 


48  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

my  determination.  In  removing  my  child,  I  re- 
move the  joy,  the  hght,  the  solace,  of  my  own 
existence  ;  but  it  is  for  her  own  good.  She 
shaU  not  return  until  her  principles  are  fixed,  or 
her  mother's  course  of  conduct  entirely  changed." 


CHAPTER  V. 

Unfortunately,  Mr.  Leeson  had  selected  a 
powerless  messenger,  who,  of  course,  inclined  to 
the  other  side,  and  who  felt  keenly,  what  even 
most  silly  women  feel,  the  love  of  offspring. — 
Instead  of  keeping  secret  as  the  grave  her  son- 
in-law's  intention,  with  garrulous  weakness  she 
sought  sympathy  from  those  hundred  and  one 
"  dear  friends,"  who  immediately  set  their  own 
versions  of  the  story  afloat  ;  and  while  hut  a  few 
saw  and  understood  the  father's  intention,  the 
mass  "conjectured"  and  "hinted"  the  "real 
reason."  "  Poor  Mr.  Leeson  !  how  generous 
of  him  to  overlook  what  had  occurred,  and  keep 
her  (his  wife)  in  his  house  ;  no  wonder  he  should 
remove  his  child  ;  of  course,  hei-  mother  would 
make  the  best  of  it ;"  and  so  forth. 

Geraldine  looked  upon  her  husband's  resolve 
as  an  act  of  wanton  tyranny  and  cruelty.  Hav- 
ing ceased  to  honour  the  straightforward  truth, 
she  could  not  believe  the  one  stated  to  be  the  true 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  49 

reason  of  his  determination,  and,  blinded  by  sor- 
row and  anger,  she  induced  her  cousin  Arthur  to 
interfere.  Women  talk  and  talk,  outrage  and 
anger  each  other,  and  their  words  are  as  nought. 
Who  heeds  or  cares  for  them  after  they  are 
spoken  ?  But  men's  words  are  uttered  to  be  re- 
membered and  acted  upon.  Mr.  Leeson  was 
indignant  at  any  man  presuming  to  interfere  in 
h's  domestic  concerns.  Words  succeeded  each 
other  with  angry  rapidity,  until  neither  could 
call  lo  mind  how  the  unfortunate  chain  was  first 
alluded  to.  Arthur  Hare  well,  then^  boldly  and 
fearlessly  declared  that  he  never  gave  it  to  his 
cousin ;  upon  which  Mr.  Leeson  gave  him  the 
lie  direct.  The  usual  consequences  followed, 
Arthiu'  Hare  well  received  a  ball  in  his  shoulder, 
and  Mr.  Leeson,  also  wounded,  was  conveyed 
home,  where  his  agonised  wife,  throwing  herself 
on  her  knees  by  his  side,  bitterly  lamented  that 
her  aunt's  gift  had  been  so  fatal.  Now,  indeed, 
she  spoke  the  truth.  The  sight  of  her  first  and 
only  love,  his  lacerated  arm  bleeding,  and  his 
features  white  as  a  maiden's  shroud,  recalled  her 
better  nature.  What,  in  that  hour,  did  she  care 
for  her  aunt's  displeasured — what  for  the  wealth 
her  sordid  fingers  had  grappled  together  1  She 
beheved  he  was  dying,  and  dying  with  the  con- 
viction of  her  utter  worthlessness.  She  did  not 
even  seek  to  extenuate  her  own  fauh,  while  she 
traced  it  to  its  origin ;  and  yet  there,  on  her 
knees,  while  pouring  out  her  soul  in  sincerity  and 
truth,  she  saw  she  was  not  believed. 
4 


60  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

How  could  she  convince  him  1  In  a  state  bor- 
dering on  frenzy  she  wrote  to  her  aunt,  implor- 
ing her  to  ratify  her  words,  acknowledging  her 
kindness  towards  herself,  but  showing  what  its 
effects  had  been.  To  this  appeal  she  received 
no  answer.  The  proof,  however,  that  she  was 
able  to  lay  before  her  husband,  at  last  convinced 
him  that  her  first  fault — her  first  falsehood — did 
not  originate  hi  herself.  Before  he  rose  from 
his  sick-bed,  for  mental  agitation,  combined  with 
liis  wound,  terminated  in  fever,  her  aunt  had 
died  ;  and  her  mother  was  certainly  the  only  one 
of  the  family  who  regretted  to  find  that  the  leg- 
acy she  left  her  niece  was  characteristic  of  her 
sarcasm.  "  And  my  niece,  Geraldine  Leeson,  I 
give  and  bequeath,  instead  of  the  whole  of  my 
property,  as  I  had  intended,  the  sum  of  one  shil- 
ling, to  buy  a  padlock  for  her  foohsh  lips." 

I  wish  I  could  say  here,  after  the  most  appro- 
ved novel  fashion,  that,  so  reconciled,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Leeson  lived  happily  together  to  the  end 
of  their  days.  Not  so.  Henry  Leeson,  though 
a  strict,  was  a  high-minded  and  generous  man, 
and  with  such  a  character  even  his  erring  wife 
was  safe  from  reproach ;  but  the  effect  of  years 
of  misconduct,  of  any  kind,  cannot  be  oblitera- 
ted by  sorrow.  Repentance  works  well  for  the 
penitent,  but  the  world  is  little  cognisant  thereof. 
The  duel  had  stamped  Geraldine  in  the  eyes  of 
that  world  as  a  woman,  if  not  of  sin,  of  levity ; 
this  in  truth  in  a  married  woman  is  so  closely 
akin  to  sin,  that  there  is  but  one  Power  which 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE.  51 

can  discern  the  difference.  When  famihar  faces 
turned  aside  as  she  passed,  when  she  walked 
up  the  steps  of  the  parish  church  ungreeted,  her 
husband  was  by  her  side,  and  she  feh  her  arm 
as  closely  pressed  to  his  heart  as  when  he  sup- 
ported her,  a  lovely,  loving  bride,  from  the  altar ; 
but  even  then  she  felt  indebted  to  his  generosity. 
She  knew  that  his  confidence,  though  she  hoped 
returning,  had  not  returned.  When  to  prove  to 
the  world  his  perfect  conviction  as  to  the  virtue 
of  his  wife,  he  paraded  town  leaning  upon 
Arthur  Harewell's  arm,  the  knowledge  of  the 
necessity  for  such  conduct  made  her  ashamed 
of  her  own  shadow. 

"  Take  my  child  from  me  now,  Harry,"  she 
said,  with  bitter,  bitter  tears,  and  her  head  bent 
almost  to  his  feet,  "  and  I  will  not  complain. 
Send  her  where  some  one  of  hio;her  and  holier 
mind  will  strengthen  and  stablish  her  in  what  is 
right.  Send  her  where  the  duties  of  her  sex 
and  station  will  be  brought  clearly  before  her 
eyes,  and  where  there  is  no  danger  of  her  con- 
founding right  and  wrong.  At  any  sacrifice  of 
my  own,  I  would  save  her  from  the  sufferings  I 
have  inflicted  and  endured." 

This,  indeed,  was  the  language  of  truth,  and 
Henry  felt  it,  and  rejoiced ;  but  his  joy  was  so- 
bered by  the  knowledge,  the  fearful  knowledge, 
of  what  the  world  said,  and  the  dread  that  she 
did  not  yet  understand  the  perfect  and  entire 
union  of  interests  necessary  to  the  happiness  of 
domestic  life.      Union  of  sym]>athies  is  the  hap- 


52  THE    PRJVATE    PURSE. 

py  effect  of  chance,  but  a  union  of  interests  is  a 
positive  duty;   and  so  at  last  Geraldine  felt  it. 

Time  passed  on.  Mr.  Leeson,  although  he 
despised  the  feeble  mind  of  his  wife's  mother, 
and  kept  her  out  of  the  way  of  her  grandchild, 
ministered  liberally  to  her  necessities.  His 
daughter  grew  up  in  mind  all  that  the  fondest 
parent  could  desire,  although  her  fragile  form 
and  sensitive  face  told  of  constitutional  delicacy; 
and  he  had  almost  forgotten  that  ever  he  doubted 
his  wife's  truth.  They  had  removed  into  a  new 
neighbourhood,  and  formed  new  friends.  The 
son  of  one  of  these,  a  man  of  high  rank,  was 
paying  his  address  to  their  daughter;  and  not 
only  were  the  young  girl's  affections  engaged, 
but  both  parents  were  delighted  at  the  prospect 
of  her  happiness. 

Father  and  son  Mere  dining  one  day  at  Mr. 
Leeson's  splendid  country  scat,  when  the  old 
gentleman,  who  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  ex- 
treme propriety,  and  was  moreover  exceedingly 
deaf,  said,  as  they  were  chatting  over  dessert, 
"  By  the  way,  Leeson,  my  cousin.  Sir  George, 
was  telling  me  an  odd  story  about  a  person  of 
your  name,  no  relation  I  suppose — ehV^  Mr. 
Leeson  did  not  know.  "No;  but  it  could  not 
be — very  improper  indeed  if  it  was.  Leeson  is 
a  general,  1  do  not  mean  to  say  a  common  name, 
but  a  general  one.  Something  about  an  affair 
that  ought  to  have  given  employment  to  the 
gentlemen  of  the  long  robe  ;  but  the  lady,  who 
was    a    dreadful  storv-tellsr.  managed  to  con- 


THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 


53 


vince  her  husband  of  her  innocence,  though  she 
convinced  nobody  else.  And  only  fancy,  by 
Jove  !  the  husband  parading-  St.  James's  Street 
arm-in-arm  with  the  very  cousin  whom  he  had 
winged !  Now,  did  you  ever  hear  any  thing  so 
absurd?  How  the  fellows  at  the  club  windows 
must  have  laughed!" 

Poor  Mrs.  Leeson !  After  the  lapse  of  years, 
to  hear  this  at  such  a  moment !  She  was  car- 
ried out  of  the  room  fainting.  An  explanation 
followed,  and  the  match  was,  at  least  for  a  time, 
broken  off. 

The  shock  was  of  too  severe  a  nature  to  be 
endured  by  so  gentle  and  tender  minded  a  girl 
as  Miss  Leeson.  Sli^  had  known  her  mother 
only  as  good  and  pure.  She  had  been  more 
proud  of  her  character  and  virtue  than  of  any- 
thing else  in  the  whole  world;  but  after  that 
fatal  dinner  she  never  spoke  upon  the  subject, 
nor  asked  a  question,  until  at  the  very  last. 
Within  an  hour  of  her  death  (and  she  died  within 
a  month,)  raising  herself  on  her  pillow,  while 
her  parents  were  at  either  side,  she  folded  her 
arm  round  her  father's  neck,  and  drawing  his 
ear  close  to  her  hps,  whispered,  "  Tell  me, 
father — tell  me  truth — was  she  guilty  1" 

"  No,  dearest — God  knows,  she  was  not." 

The  gii'l's  face  became  radiant  with  joy,  and 
the  last  word  she  spoke  was  a  repetition  of  the 
sound  she  loved  so  well — "My  mother! — my 
mother! — my  mother!"  And  then  she  passed 
away,  as  the  leaves  from  the  summer  cistus,  as 


54  THE    PRIVATE    PURSE. 

fragile  and  as  fair — the  first  rough  blast  of  a 
rough  world  had  borne  her  to  the  earth. 

For  years  and  years  her  parents  lived,  two 
mourning  creatures,  he  strengthening  her,  and 
she,  patient  and  silent,  save  to  the  young,  whom 
she  counselled,  as  I  do  you — that  when  you 
wed,  do  it  not  lightly;  but  when  done,  en- 
deavour as  much  as  lieth  in  you  to  be  of  one 
mind  and  one  interest  in  all  things. 


CLEVERNESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  picture  a  more  delight- 
ful village  than  East-court ;  its  fine  old  manor- 
house,  combining  the  architecture  of  half  a  dozen 
reigns,  bound  together  by  ivy,  the  growth  of  at 
least  two  centuries ;  its  straggling  grotesque 
houses,  with  high  gables  and  tall  chimneys,  fenced 
along  the  road  by  broad  yew  hedges,  cut  here  and 
there  into  various  patterns — owls,  and  peacocks, 
and  arches,  where  small  birds  had  nested  time 
out  of  mind. 

Yes ;  East-court  was  a  pleasant  village.  There 
was  in  the  centre  of  a  sort  of  common  green  that 
flanked  one  side,  a  pond,  large  enough  to  entitle 
it  to  the  dignity  of  being  termed  "  a  lake."  But 
the  people  of  East-court  having  originally  been 
an  unambitious  race,  were  satisfied  that  the 
pond  should  be  simply  called  a  pond — and  a 
beautiful  pond  it  was.  Two  noble  willows 
extended  their  branches  nearly  to  the  water's 
midst,  and  a  clump  of  mingled  holly,  and  taper- 
ing feathery  birch,  was  so  beautiful  in  its  growth 
and  colour,  that  an  artist  once  came  ten  miles  to 


56  CLEVERNESS. 

sketch  it;  a  fact  which  the  old  landlord  of  the 
"  Three  Bee-Hives"  repeated  several  times  each 
day  of  his  life,  forgetting  altogether,  good  old 
soul,  that  every  one  in  East-court  was  aware  of 
a  circumstance  so  flattering  to  the  beauty  of  their 
long-loved  home.  The  cottages  at  East-court 
were  so  disposed,  as  to  add  to  the  effect  of  the 
larger  dwellings — pretty  white  and  brown  erec- 
tions ;  the  walls  as  white  as  lime  and  labour  could 
make  them;  and  the  dark-brown  thatch  nearly 
covered  by  those  sweet  and  beautiful  climbers 
which  belong  of  right  to  the  cottage  homes  of 
England.  On  the  very  summit  of  an  abrupt 
conical  hill,  that  sprung  up  suddenly  at  the  back 
of  the  manor-house,  was  a  windmill,  with  wide 
extended  arms  and  snow-white  sails  ;  and  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  on  the  other  side,  guarded  by  some 
venerable  trees,  stood  East-court  church  with  the 
adjoining  parsonage-house.  There  were  but  few 
shops  at  East-court,  for  the  village  was  only  three 
miles  from  the  county  town.  But  the  very  shops 
partook  of  the  picturesque  character  of  this  truly 
English  hamlet;  and  many  persons  declared 
that  there  never  was  so  quiet,  so  venerable,  and 
yet,  withal,  so  cheerful  a  village  as  East-court, 
or,  as  the  very  old  people  called  it,  "  East-court  o' 
the  Hill." 

It  might  well  be  a  cheerful  village  ;  the  gen- 
tleman who  resided  in  the  manor-house  was  a 
magistrate,  and  landlord  of  every  adjacent  dwell- 
ing. He  was,  in  all  acts  of  love  and  charity,  a 
second  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley ;  and  had  a  bro- 


CLEVERNESS.  57 

ther,  a  physician,  who  had  one  wing  of  the  old 
manor-house  fitted  up  as  a  surgery  and  dispen- 
sary; but  he  never  took  fee  for  advice,  or  pay- 
ment for  medicine,  from  any  human  being  ;  feel- 
ing— at  least  so  it  would  appear,  from  the  alacri- 
ty with  which  he  dispensed  both — that  he  was 
under  particular  obligation  to  all  who  took  his 
prescriptions,  and  was  never  happy  after  a  baby 
was  born  in  the  parish  until  it  was  vaccinated. 
It  was  rare,  indeed,  to  meet  with  such  men  as 
the  squire  and  his  good  brother.  Well  might 
East-court  be  the  very  paradise  of  English  vil- 
lages. I  have  said  nothing  of  the  rector ;  but  cer- 
tainly, unless  he  had  carefully  laboured  in,  and 
pruned  and  trimmed  his  vineyard,  the  old  would 
not  have  descended  to  their  graves  with  such 
hope  and  humility,  nor  would  the  young  have 
lived  together  with  such  peace  and  good-will. 
For  the  rest,  a  dancing,  music,  and  a  species  of 
drawing  master,  who  combined  drawing  and  wri- 
ting together,  made  each  the  round  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood once  a  week  ;  thus  the  simple-minded 
people  imagined  that  the  means  of  "  a  pohte  edu- 
cation" were  safely  secured  to  their  children ;  and 
the  village  school  was  under  the  immediate  do- 
minion of  the  parish-clerk  and  his  wife,  and  en- 
dowed in  every  way  by  the  lord  of  the  manor, 
so  that  the  peasant  class  were  considered  well 
provided  for  as  to  their  sources  of  information.  I 
could  say  a  great  deal  more  in  favour  of  East- 
court  and  its  inhabitants  as  they  were  about  fif- 
teen years  ago,  but  perhaps  have  detailed  enough 


58  CLEVERNESS. 

to  create  an  interest  for  them,  and  may  be  permit- 
ted to  pass  on  to  the  day  on  which  a  story  con- 
nected with  its  inhabitants  may  be  considered  to 
open. 

"  A  new  family,  a  rich  and  respectable  family, 
did  you  say,  Isaac,  wanting  the  Deerstone  house, 
where  Mr.  Rowley  died?'  inquired  Squire  Rus- 
sel  of  East-court,  of  his  land-steward  Isaac  Hey- 
wood. 

"  Yes,  your  honour,"  rephed  Isaac,  bowing; 
*'  a  lady  and  gentleman,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Diggons 
by  name,  three  young  masters,  two  young  Miss- 
es (doll-looking  young  things,)  seven  servants, 
a  tutor,  and  a  governess." 

"Diggons,"  repeated  the  squire,  who  had  a 
little  leaning  towards  aristocratic  names  ;  "  Dig- 
gons; it  is  not  an  old  name,  Isaac,  though  it 
may  belong  to  respectable  people." 

"Certainly,  sir;  he's  a  fine  gentleman,  and 
wears  chains  and  rings;  a  fine  gentleman,  and 
has  (his  man  says)  a  great  library,  for  his  lady 
is  very  clever;  indeed,  his  man  says,  they  are 
an  extraordinary  clever  family." 

"  We  never,  I  think,  had  a  family  of  that  des- 
cription, Isaac,  in  the  village,"  answered  Mr. 
Russel,  after  a  pause.  "  I  cannot  say  1  like  peo- 
ple who  appear  more  clever  than  their  neigh- 
bours. However,  this  is  perhaps  a  prejudice, 
and  we  should  guard  against  prejudices.  We 
will  look  into  the  references." 

The  references  were  looked  into,  and  Mr. 
Diggons  was  found  an  eligible  tenant  for  Deer- 


CLEVERNESS.  59 

Stone.  The  arrival  of  the  "  clever  family"  occa- 
sioned more  than  the  ordinary  commotion,  for 
they  brouglit  with  them  various  things  that  the 
good  people  of  the  village  had  only  heard  of  in 
an  obscure  manner — chemical  apparatus,  elec- 
trifying machines,  various  astronomical  instru- 
ments ;  in  short,  some  of  the  older  and  simpler 
people  regarded  Mr.  Diggons  very  much  in  the 
light  of  a  necromancer,  and  the  small,  pale, 
acute-faced  tutor  as  his  familiar — something  or' 
other  which  they  did  not  like  to  name. 

When  everything  was  settled,  and  every  one 
got  used  to  everything,  Mr.  Russel  and  his 
brother,  Mr.  Graham  Russel,  agreed  that  the 
Diggonses  were  a  good  set  of  people,  eaten  up 
with  a  desire  to  be  celebrated,  which  of  course 
prevented  its  accomplishment;  leaving  town 
where  they  were  nobodies,  to  reside  in  the  coun- 
try, where  they  hoped  to  be  "somebodies,"  at 
the  very  least,  labouring  to  acquu-e  conversable 
knowledge  of  abstruse  sciences,  not  being  par- 
ticular loho  approved,  as  long  as  approbation 
was  bestowed ;  unable  to  persevere  to  the  amount 
of  being  informed,  and  yet  having  a  smattering 
of  everything.  Bating  this  eager  thirsting  after 
admiration — not  after  science  for  its  own  noble 
sake,  but  for  the  gaping  admu-ation  of  the  many 
— the  family  were  kindly,  cheerful,  and  hospita- 
ble people ;  not  selfish,  either,  in  their  pursuits, 
but  willing  to  inform  others.  Three  or  four 
self-thinking  inhabitants  of  East-court  agreed 
with  Mr.  Russel  and  his  brother  in  their  rational 


60  CLEVERNESS. 

estimate  of  the  new  family ;  but  the  many  open- 
ed wide  their  mouths,  and  gave  their  "  most 
sweet  voices  "  in  applause.  The  Diggonses  were 
pronounced  to  be  the  most  "talented  people  in 
England !"  Science  has  many  triflers  in  her 
train ;  and  certainly  amongst  them  she  number- 
ed every  member  of  the  Diggons  family ;  from 
Mr.  Diggons,  who  trifled  with  all  the  sciences, 
down  to  pretty  little  pale  Elizabeth,  who  sighed 
and  smiled  over  a  miniature  galvanic  battery. 

On  the  left-hand  side  of  the  village,  com- 
manding a  view  of  the  green,  the  huge  pond, 
and  the  picturesque  cottages  beyond,  was  a 
pretty  cheerful-looking  house  ;  "  happy  "  you 
would  have  called  it,  for  inanimate  things  can 
be  so  placed,  so  garnished,  as  to  look  happy. 
The  draperies  within  the  windows  were  of  white 
muslin  trimmed  with  blue  silk  lace  and  fringe ; 
and  the  trellis-work  outside  was  almost  concealed 
by  the  wreaths  of  flowers  that  owed  their  lux- 
uriance and  beauty  to  much  care  and  a  warm 
southern  aspect.  There  was  an  ample  bow 
window  and  several  other  long  narrow  ones, 
that  seemed  playing  hide-and-seek  among  the 
roses  and  myrtles  that  were  always  in  blow; 
and  the  chimneys  were  tall  and  square,  and  the 
gables  very  high.  There  was  also  a  conserva- 
tory, and  you  could  see  that,  besides  plants,  it 
contained  several  birds  of  splendid  plumage.  In 
short,  the  outward  appearance  of  the  dwelling 
combined  so  much  that  was  tasteful  and  expen- 
sive, the  looker-on  was  assured  there  was  both 


CLEVERNESS.  61 

wealth  iiid  taste  within  the  latter,  keeping  the 
former  in  subjection. 

This  house  had  the  quaint  name  of  East-in- 
Rest,  why,  I  know  not,  and  no  one  at  East- 
court  seemed  to  think  it  strange.  It  was  almost 
as  large,  and  of  the  same  date  as  the  manor- 
house,  and  had  been,  time  out  of  mind,  inhabited 
by  the  same  family,  once  as  numerous  as  honour- 
able, but  now  dwindled  down  to  a  widow  and 
two  children — a  boy  and  girl.  The  lady  was 
still  lovely,  her  children  beautiful ;  the  boy,  tall, 
fair,  and  handsome,  but  whose  movements  par- 
took of  the  irregularity  and  languor  of  ill,  or  at 
least  delicate  health ;  the  gh-1  was  also  fair  and 
delicate,  but  with  an  energy  and  decision  of 
character  marking  every  movement,  that  de- 
ceived even  her  motlier  as  to  her  bodily  strength. 
When  the  "  clever  family "  came  to  reside  at 
Deerstone,  Alfred  Erris  was  nearly  seven,  and 
Lucy  between  eight  and  nine ;  and  as  the  two 
children  clung  together,  gazing  at  the  evolutions 
of  a  good-natured  macaw,  wlio  invariably  exer- 
cised himself  to  amuse  them,  Mrs.  Diggons 
might  almost  be  excused,  when  returning  Mrs. 
Erris'  visit,  for  the  encomium  she  injudiciously 
passed  on  their  beauty. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Erris,  you  may  certainly  be 
proud  of  their  beauty,"  she  exclaimed;  "I  never 
saw  two  such  darlings— loves — quite.  I  should 
so  like  my  son  Robert  to  paint  them;  he  does 
such  charming  thinps.     There  is  no  doubt  but, 


6-2 


CLEVERNESS. 


if  he  chofie,  he  coiild  be  an  R.  A.  in  three 
months." 

*' Alfred  draws  a  Httle,"  said  Mrs.  Erris. 

*'A  httle!"  repeated  Mrs.  Diggons.  "My 
dear  lady,  at  his  age  Robert  copied  the  car- 
toons ;  but  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  spoiling 
such  angels.  I  assure  you  I  had  plenty  of  strug- 
gles with  myself  ere  I  could  make  my  boys  and 
girls  work.  I  lost  the  flower  of  the  flock  about 
five  years  ago — died,  sweet  child,  in  six  days,  of 
brain  fever  !  A  wonderful  memory  he  had,  poor 
darling;  could  repeat  poetry  for  two  hours  by 
my  watch,  when  only  eight  years  old."  It  never 
occurred  to  Mrs.  Erris  that  this  killed  him  ;  but 
she  said  that  though  Alfred  could  not  do  that, 
he,  too,  had  an  excellent  memory. 

"  Which,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  must  work. 
Memory,  of  all  things,  must  be  cultivated ;  but 
1  do  not  wonder  at  your  spoiling  such  an  angel." 

Mrs.  Erris  assured  her  that  she  did  not 
"spoil"  him,  and  in  proof  thereof,  asserted  that 
he  could  repeat  a  great  number  of  Watts'  hymns. 

"Watts'  hymns!"  answered  Mrs.  Diggons 
with  an  irreverent  sneer  at  the  purest  child- 
poetry  in  any  language,  living  or  dead ;  "  such 
a  creature  as  that  should  be  able  to  repeat  ora- 
tions from  Shakspere  and  Milton." 

"  In  time,"  said  Mrs.  Erris,  making  a  secret 
resolve  that  he  should  do  so  immediately,  and 
beginning  to  think  that  she  had  really  neglected 
his  education. 


CLEVERNESS.  63 

"Is  he  fond  of  the  languages'?"  continued 
the  lady. 

"  He  has  commenced  Latin,  and  learnt  French 
and  English  together  orally,  I  may  say,"  replied 
the  abashed  mother. 

"Only  commenced  Latin!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Diggons  in  a  compassionate  tone.  "  Well,  to 
be  sure,  he  will  never  want  it,  as  they  say ;  but 
I  should  have  an  ambition  to  see  such  a  noble 
creature  as  that  'far  on'  in  everything;  but  per- 
haps, if  he  is  not  much  advanced  in  languages, 
he  is  '  well  up'  in  the  sciences." 

Mrs.  Erris  was  a  timid,  gentle  woman,  very 
anxious  for  her  children,  and  fearful  lest  they 
should  grow  to  think  she  had  not  done  her  duty. 

"  Indeed,"  she  replied,  blushing,  "  he  hardly 
knows  the  meaning  of  the  word.  His  taste 
leads  him  to  study;  but  my  good  friend  Doctor 
Graham  Russel  says  his  brain  is  already  too 
large,  and  insists  so  much  on  air  and  exercise, 
and  out-door  amusements,  that  my  dear  boy  is 
backward,  rather,  in  absolute  study;  not  that 
he  is  ignorant;  he  knows  the  names  of  all  the 
trees  and  flowers,  the  " 

"Botanical  names'?"  mildly  suggested  Mrs. 
Diggons. 

"  No ;  the  homely  English  names  and  their 
uses,"  replied  the  widow ;  "  remember,  he  is 
only  seven  years  old." 

"Well,  well,"  ejaculated  the  lady;  "I  can 
perfectly  understand  Dr.  Russel's  prejudice  ;  he 
has  arrived  at  that  time  of  life  when  men  look 


64  CLEVERNESS. 

at  improvements  suspiciously,  because  they  are 
not  of  their  time.  He  is  an  old  man ;  and  if  I 
had  minded  our  family  physician  even  in  poor 
Elizabeth's  case,  ma'am,  she'd  have  been  a  dis- 
grace to  me ;  that  unhappy  curve  in  her  spine, 
he  declared  arose  from  her  sitting  so  closely  to 
the  harp,  and  she  was  obliged  to  rechne;  but 
during  the  three  years  she  laid  upon  a  slightly 
inclined  plane,  she  never  missed  a  single  lesson, 
nor  did  I  yield  her  any  indulgence — never  suf- 
fered her  to  have  an  amusing  book.  'No,'  I 
said  to  the  physician  ;  '  smce  she  cannot  go  on 
with  the  harp,  she  shall  be  remarkable  at  some- 
thing else;'  that  was  my  ambition,  to  have  re- 
markable children.  Her  nature  was  soft  and 
gentle,  but  we  hardened  it  with  mathematics  and 
algebra." 

This,  at  the  moment,  startled  Mrs.  Erris. 
She  thought  of  the  deformed  girl,  and  her  pale, 
anxious,  thoughtful  face,  from  which  every  ray 
of  joy  seemed  banished.  She  had  struck  her, 
at  first,  as  being  the  only  one  of  this  "  clever 
family"  who  was  not  superficial.  Such  had 
been  her  first  impression.  But  Mrs.  Diggons' 
manner  was  imposing  in  more  senses  than  one ; 
and  the  timid,  retiring  mother,  who  had  really 
done  her  duty  by  not  overtasking,  and  yet  sufii- 
ciently  exercising  the  infant  intellect  of  her  chil- 
dren, felt  bitter  self-reproach  while  her  new  neigh- 
bour enumerated  the  acquirements  of  her  off- 
spring, without  calling  to  mind  that  one  of  them 
had  fallen  a  victim  to  brain  fever,  while  another 
was  deformed  for  life. 


CLEVERNESS.  65 


CHAPTER  11. 

Alfred  and  Lucy  Erris  were  invited  to  spend 
a  day  with  the  family  at  Deerstone ;  and — in- 
stead of  the  canter  on  the  pony,  the  race  on  the 
upland  lawn,  the  whoop  and  merry  play,  which 
is  the  healthy  relaxation  of  healthful  children, 
and  which  they  had  expected  with  an  interest 
which  was  a  pleasure  in  itself — there  was  a  grand 
show-off  of  science,  a  parade  of  hard  names,  a 
display  of  precocious  understanding,  or  rather  its 
distorted  shadow,  which  rendered  Alfred  and 
Lucy  uncomfortable,  and  Alfred  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  thoughtful  of  display,  and  straining 
after  effect  which  rendered  him  unnatural.  Mrs. 
Erris,  who  dined  there,  felt  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  her  children.  One  young  Diggons  painted, 
another  excelled  in  languages,  another  made 
crude  poetry,  which,  though  correct  in  numbers, 
was  without  idea  ;  and  as  to  the  "  ologies,"  hard 
words,  and  parrotted  sentences,  there  was  no  end 
of  them  !  Poor  Mrs.  Erris  wondered  why  she 
had  suffered  her  beautiful  boy — who  looked  like 
a  Grecian  statue  amid  plaster  and  rough  stone 
images — to  display  his  ignorance,  and  innately 
resolved  to  adopt  Mr.  Diggons's  plan,  and 
abridge  his  hours  of  relaxation  and  exercise,  that 
he  might  "  make  the  most  of  time  " — a  duty 
doubtless  ;  but  let  how  the  most  can  be  made  of 
this  ffold  from  God  be  ascertained  before  the  vaiu- 
5 


66  CLEVERNESS. 

est  and  most  injurious  of  all  vain-glories,  that  of 
making  "  show-children"  is  attempted. 

In  accordance  with  her  determination,  Mrs. 
Erris  dismissed  her  son's  tutor,  (whom  Mr.  Dig- 
gons  had  pronounced  "  merely  a  classic ")  for 
one  who  was  "  classical  and  scientific,"  a  hard 
stern  man,  with  an  iron  constitution;  and  direct- 
ed Lucy's  governess  to  "  keep  her  at  work  "  un- 
der the  tutor's  direction.  There  was  no  difficul- 
ty in  making  these  children  study — no  difficulty 
in  getting  them  to  rise  in  the  morning ;  their  do^ 
cile  and  intelligent  minds  were  open  to  receive, 
and  fertile  to  produce.  In  natural  capabilities, 
they  were  far  superior  to  their  showy  neighbours; 
and  their  moral  and  thinking  qualities  were  far 
beyond  those  of  Mr.  Diggons's  otf spring.  Alfred 
was  indeed  a  boy  of  the  noblest  qualities,  enter- 
ing into  the  spirit  of  history,  comprehending  and 
analysing,  idealising,  too,  until  his  dry  hot  hand, 
flushed  cheek,  and  throbbing  brow,  would  have 
warned  any  teacher  of  feeling  and  observation, 
that  it  was  time  to  lay  by  the  book  and  the  pen, 
and  away  into  the  bright  fields,  and  among  the 
joy-giving  and  health-giving  beauties  of  nature. 
And  yet  this  tutor  loved  the  boy  ;  he  delighted  in 
him,  because  he  delighted  in  learning,  and  be- 
cause he  felt  no  expressed  fatigue  in  poring  over 
^he  world  of  knowledge,  which  delighted  him 
u■«*^e  and  more  every  day.  He  knew  that  he 
was  the  only  son  of  an  ancient  house,  and  that 
much  depended  on  him  ;  and  he  thought  how 
fine  it  would  be  to  see  liim  carry  the  hi<?hest 


CLEVERNESS.  67 

honours  at  Oxford — to  feel  that  he  would  be 
more  distinguished  by  his  talents  and  his  learning 
than  by  the  ordinary  position  he  would  hold  in 
society  by  virtue  of  his  family  and  his  wealth. 

Lucy  was  v/ith  her  brother  in  all  his  tasks,  ta- 
ming down  her  wildness  of  spirits  to  assist  Ins  la- 
bours, and  stimulating  his  exertions,  which  were 
anything  but  childish.  The  "  clever  family " 
were  a  fair  example  of  the  fasliion  and  display 
of  information  ;  their  minds  even  were  not  half 
drawn  into  the  exertion ;  they  imitated  rather 
than  laboured.  This  was  particularly  the  case 
\vith  the  healthier  portion  of  the  family,  who,  like 
their  parents,  were  superficial;  but  Alfred  and 
Lucy  had  hearts,  feelings,  and  intellect  of  the 
finest  texture,  an  intense  love  of  study,  an  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful,  a  desire  to  excel,  which, 
being  once  awakened,  never  again  slept.  They 
were  precisely  the  children  whose  minds  should 
have  been  strengthened  rather  than  taxed,  and 
whose  bodies  should  have  been  invigorated  by  air, 
exercise,  and  much  rest.  Mrs  Erris,  astonished  at 
their  progress,  which  she  was  vain  enough  to  ex- 
hibit to  the  Diggonses,  partly  from  gratitude 
that  thei/  had  roused  her  to  urge  forward  lier 
children,  was  so  dehghted  at  the  rapidity  with 
which  Alfred  mastered  every  difficulty,  that  sha 
desired  to  make  Dr.  Russel  confess  that  she  was 
right  and  he  was  wrong  as  to  the  management  of 
her  son  especially.  Since  the  commencement 
of  her  new  system,  she  had  but  one  conversation 
on  the  subject  with  him,  and  that  had  certainly 


68  CLEVERNESS. 

left  a  painful  impression  on  both  their  minds. 
She  framed,  however,  some  trifling  excuse  for 
calling  at  the  manor  house ;  and  after  a  brief 
interview  with  the  squire,  who  had  been  so 
much  annoyed  at  her  obliging  her  son  to  forego 
his  pony  exercise  to  devote  more  time  to  study, 
that  he  was  cold  and  even  stately  to  the  widow 
of  one  he  had  loved  like  his  own  child,  she  sought 
the  doctor  in  his  favourite  conservatory. 

The  doctor  was  cold  enough  also,  but  one  of 
his  peculiarities  was,  his  being  unable  to  perse- 
vere in  anything  like  coldness  towards  a  lady. 

"I  wanted  you  to  dine  with  me  to-morrow, 
my  good  friend,"  said  she  ;  *'  hideed  I  wished 
our  lord  of  the  manor  to  come  also,  but  he  has  re- 
ceived me  so  strangely,  that  I  had  not  courage 
to  ask  him." 

"  We  are  two  old-fashioned  old  men,  my  dear 
Mrs  Erris,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  but  somehow 
you  have  got  new-fangled  of  late,  and  we  should 
not  be  able  to  avoid  finding  fault,  one  of  the  bad 
habits  common  to  old  friends  ;  so  that,  perhaps, 
under  these  circumstances,  it  is  better  for  us  to 
stay  away." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  answered  Mrs. 
Erris  gently;  "  you  allude  to  Alfred  and  Lucy. 
I  want  you  to  come  and  judge  for  yourself;  I 
want  you  to  see  how  they  are  improved ;  that,  in 
fact,  is  all  I  desire.  I  want  you  to  examine  the 
children  of  your  old  friend,  and  I  think  you  will 
be  satisfied  that  I  have  done  my  duty." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied  you  have  intended  to  do 


CLEVERNESS.  69 

your  duty,  my  dear  lady ;  quite  satisfied  of  that ; 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  stimulus  given  io 
your  maternal  vanity  by  the  arrival  of  this  '  clev- 
er family,'  I  am  certain  you  would  have  continu- 
ed blessing-  and  being  blessed  ;  not  overtasking, 
but  permitting  your  children's  minds  as  well  as 
their  bodies  to  strengthen  while  they  grow ;  but 
we  shall  not  agree  upon  the  matter,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Erris,  so  perhaps  we  had  better  not  talk  of 
it;  we  shall  certainly  not  agree  upon  the  sub- 
ject." 

"  You  were  the  friend  my  poor  husband  val- 
ued most  on  earth,"  said  Mrs.  Erris  after  a 
pause;  "and  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should 
labour  under  any  false  impression.  I  assure  you 
neither  Lucy  nor  Alfred  are  ever  driven  to  their 
tasks." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  children  of  their  ra- 
pid yet  delicate  natures.  If  they  had  a  disincli- 
nation to  study,  it  would  prove  that  their  indivi- 
dual minds  were  not  of  a  quality  to  injure  their 
bodies ;  but  the  zeal  for  study  requires  to  be 
regulated." 

"  And  Mr.  Salon  does  regulate  it,"  said  the 
mother. 

"  By  increasing  it,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  The 
structure  of  these  precocious  minds  is  easily  dis- 
organized. It  has  always  seemed  to  me  as  ex- 
traordinary as  unjust,  that  parents  and  teachers 
bestow  double  the  pains  upon  what  are  termed 
clever  children,  to  what  they  do  upon  those  who 
are  dull  of  comprehension  ;   whereas  the  heavier 


70  CLEVERNESS. 

minds  could  be  wrought  with  decidedly  more 
safety,  and  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  would  pro- 
duce, if  not  a  richer,  certainly  a  more  abundant 
fruitatre." 

"But,"  urged  Mrs.  Erris,  " you  are  arguing 
as  if  my  children  were  suffering  from  too  much 
mental  exertion.  I  assure  you  the  contrary  is 
decidedly  the  case ;  they  are  full  of  life,  full  of 
energy.  Mrs.  Diggons  said  she  never  saw  any- 
thing in  her  children  like  the  energy  with  which 
my  children  apply." 

"I  daresay  she  did  not,"  replied  the  doctor. 
"In  the  first  place,  your  tutor  imparts  knowl- 
edge, not  its  semblance ;  and  in  the  next,  your 
children  have  really  a  panting  after  information, 
a  gasping  for  the  beautiful  and  the  ideal,  a  na- 
turally poetic  temperament,  which  destroys  ten 
for  the  one  it  crowns.  I  remember  Alfred  rest- 
less in  his  cradle,  and  weeping  at  melancholy 
music ;  and  as  to  Lucy,  the  difficulty  with  her 
was  always  to  keep  her  tranquil.  You  have, 
my  dear  lady,  applied  excitement  where  you 
should,  in  my  humble  opinion,  have  removed  it." 

"  But  would  you  have  had  them  grow  up  in 
ignorance  V  inquired  the  lady. 

"  That  is  so  like  a  woman,"  said  the  old  bach- 
elor, smiling  sadly;  "jumping  from  one  extreme 
to  the  other.  I  talked  of  undue  excitement,  and 
you  immediately  fell  back  upon  extreme  igno- 
rance ;  an  excitement  is  the  destruction  of  health 
and  strength,  and  is  to  mind  the  very  pestilence 
of  education.     The   children  were   doing  very 


CLEVERNES8.  71 

well,  learning  as  much  as  at  their  age  they  ought 
to  learn  without  forcing — that  is  all  that  children 
should  do." 

"  But  some  learn  more  quicklj  than  others, 
my  dear  sir." 

'*  So  they  do ;  some  require  keeping  back, 
others  bringing  forward,  but,  with  both,  time  is 
the  only  safe  developer  and  strengthener.  I  ne- 
ver knew  an  instance  where  a  precocious  child 
was  not  the  better  for  being  kept  back.  It  is  po- 
sitively offensive  to  come  in  contact  with  those 
forced  children  ;  to  find  mammas  and  papas  ab- 
surd enough  to  mistake  indications  of  talent  for 
talent  itself,  and  treating  you  to  little  miss  or  lit- 
tle master's  poetry  or  prose.  Well,  my  dear 
lady,"  he  added,  ashamed  of  his  pettishness,  *' I 
have  at  least  to  thank  you  for  your  patience ; 
you  have  listened  to  me,  and  I  thank  you.  I 
will  go,  if  you  please,  to-morrow,  if  it  were  only 
to  prove  how  I  value  your  forbearance  ;  but  just 
look  at  our  flowers  and  this  new  forcing  house, 
which,  I  think,  you  have  not  seen,  and  which 
our  gardener  would  have,  because  the  clever  fa- 
mily have  one."  Mrs.  Erris  looked  at  the  flow- 
ers ;  the  doctor  having  set  aside  the  subject  they 
talked  of,  she  knew  would  not  return  to  it ;  so 
she  admired  the  plants,  and  the  good  old  gentle- 
man's anxiety  for  Lucy  and  Alfred  was  for  a  few 
minutes  obliterated  by  the  interest  he  felt  in  his 
favourite  flowers.  On  leaving  the  conservatory 
for  the  forcing-house,  they  found  the  gardener 
busied  with  some  plants  that  had  been  placed  up- 


72  CLEVERNESS. 

on  a  stand ;  among  them  was  a  white  moss-rose, 
its  green  leaves  fading  ;  the  buds,  through  whose 
soft  moss  the  faint  streak  of  white  was  more  or 
less  visible,  hung  their  heads,  from  their  feeble 
and  seemingly  twisted  stems. 

*'  It  won't  do,  Tom — all  your  care  won't  do 
wo^^?,"  said  Dr.  Russel  to  the  gardener ;  if  you 
had  been  content  to  urge,  not  force  the  plant 
forward,  it  might  have  lived  and  flourished  in  the 
conservatory.     Now  it  is  gone — gone  for  ever." 

"  It  was  so  beautiful,  sir,"  said  the  man ;  "  I 
never  saw  anything  more  beautiful.  I  didn't  like 
to  be  outdone  in  early  flowering  by  Mr.  Diggons's 
gardener,  and  got  more  heat  on  ;  and  I'm  sorry 
to  say  this  is  not  the  first  plant  that  has"  served 
me  so ;  the  blossoms  have  dropped  off  many ;  so 
that,  after  all  my  care,  and  though  willing  to  sa- 
crifice the  plant  for  one  good  flowering,  it  wonH 
always  give  that,  hut  die  away — right  away^ 

"  The  rose  would  have  been  healthy  enough 
in  the  conservatory,  I  suppose "?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Bless  you,  sir,  it  would  have  lived  long 
enough  to  have  made  a  timber  tree  if  I  wanted 
it ;  but  such  fierce  forcing  cuts  them  off  even  be- 
fore they  blossom.  It's  a  principle  in  nature, 
sir ;  my  old  governor  never  would  have  anything 
forced  beyond  nature.  *  Thomas,'  he  used  to 
say  to  me,  '  let  us  help  nature  ;  let  us  assist  the 
old  gentlewoman  as  well  as  we  can — she  desei-ves 
it  of  us;  and  it  is  our  duty,  as  well  as  our  inter- 
est, to  keep  friends  with  her,  for  there's  one  thing 
certain,  she  won't  stand  no  nonsense.*     He  was 


CLEVERNESS.  73 

a  plain  spoken  Scotchman,  sir ;  but,  like  all  of 
his  country,  he  had  a  great  acquaintance  with 
nature." 

The  doctor  made  no  further  observation ;  but 
a  glance  at  Mrs.  Erris  showed  liim  that  her  face 
was  bathed  in  tears. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Above  tlu*ee  years  elapsed  since  the  master  of 
East-court  manor  let  Deerstone  house  to  the 
"  clever  famiJy  ;"  and  he  had  more  than  once 
hinted  to  his  confidential  sei-vant,  Isaac  Hey- 
wood,  his  belief  that  he  did  not  think  a  pair  of 
lawyers  could  have  proved  more  injurious  to  the 
repose  of  tlie  neighbourhood  than  the  inhabitants 
of  Deerstone  ;  for,  without  positively  improving, 
they  had  unsettled  the  course  of  instruction.  As 
Dr.  Russel  obseiTed,  "  they  had  inoculated  the 
whole  country  with  a  mental  nettle-rash." 

Mr.  Diggons's  daughter  Elizabeth,  who  had 
so  long  struggled  with,  or  rather  submitted  to,  the 
spinal  affection,  which  her  mother  declared 
should  never  interfere  with  her  education,  died 
eighteen  months  after  their  residence  at  Deer- 
stone ;  yet  in  no  way  did  this  young  woman's 
fate  act  as  a  warning  to  Mrs.  Erris. 

Alfred  had  become  one  of  those  extraordinary 


74  CLEVERNESS. 

boys  who  dazzle  and  satisfy — a  creature  so  bright, 
so  glorious,  in  noting  whom,  you  instinctively 
pray  that  a  life  may  be  spared  to  those  who  live 
upon  its  continuance.  All  observed,  except  his 
mother  and  her  new  friends,  that  he  outgrew  his 
strength  ;  his  eyes  beamed  with  a  deep  yet  bril- 
liant intelligence  ;  they  were  eyes  that  flashed 
and  burned ;  and  the  delicate  tint  upon  his  cheek 
occasionally  flushed  into  a  concentrated  crimson 
spot.  It  is  true  he  took  exercise.  He  would 
spring  upon  a  beautiful  little  Arabian  horse,  that 
had  succeeded  his  pony,  and  away  ;  using  more 
violent  exertion  in  one  hour,  than  he  ought  to 
have  done  in  four;  and  then  return,  over-fa- 
tigued, to  persuade  himself  and  his  mother  that 
*'  exercise  was  not  good  for  him." 

Fortune  smiled  on  this  favourite  of  nature. 
A  baronetcy,  held  by  a  distant  branch  of  the  fa- 
mily, became  his  by  the  death  of  those  who  stood 
between  him  and  the  distinction,  and  a  large  ad- 
dition in  money  and  estate  came  with  it.  Most 
exceeding  joy  followed.  Alfred  was  now  the  last 
of  his  race — the  very  last  male  of  the  family  who 
bore  the  name  of  Erris — and  those  who  looked 
upon  him,  and  those  who  more  particularly  knew 
him,  thought  all  that  was  high  and  glorious  cen- 
tred in  him.  Some  time  after  the  news  was 
spread,  and  when  the  fever  of  congratulations 
and  arrangements  somewhat  subsided,  Lucy  and 
her  brother  were  together  in  a  little  temple,  call- 
ed especially  "  their  own."  Alfred  was  four- 
teen, unusually  tall,  and  formed  for  his  age ;  and 


CLEVERNESS.  75 

Lucy  might  have  passed  for  younger  than  she 
was,  except  that  she  had  quite  tamed  down  her 
wild  spirit,  and  sometimes  looked  more  thought- 
ful than  girls  who  have  numbered  many  more 
than  her  years.  They  were  seated  side  by  side, 
reading  from  the  same  book  silently.  There 
was  this  difference  in  their  way  of  reading  : — 
when  Alfred  met  with  anything  that  particularly 
struck  hiin,  his  cheek  flushed,  his  eye  dilated, 
triumphed,  I  might  say,  in  the  glory  of  the  writer, 
and  he  would  silently  point  it  out  to  Lucy.  She, 
on  the  contrary,  immediately  began  to  read  aloud 
to  him  whatever  pleased  her,  and  did  not  seem 
to  enjoy  anything  unless  he  enjoyed  it  with  her. 
He  had  the  same  feeling  towards  her,  though, 
as  I  have  said,  it  was  differently  expressed,  and 
would  lay  his  finger  on  the  page,  and  their  eyes 
would  meet,  his  fiill  of  light,  hers  hardly  ventur- 
ing an  expression  of  their  own,  until  she  had  read 
his.  Sometimes  he  could  not  bear  even  the 
sound  of  her  silver  voice ;  he  seemed  to  think 
that  sound  disturbs  feeling,  and  that  it  is  only 
the  eye  which  should  drink  in  the  written  words 
of  mighty  men ;  and  then,  without  another  word, 
she  would  remain  hushed,  rewarded  by  a  smile 
or  a  pressure  of  her  brother's  hand  for  her  de- 
sire to  give  him  pleasure,  by  sympathising  in  his 
delights — the  greatest  pleasure  youth  knows. 
The  attachment  of  these  two  young  creatures 
was  perfect.  He  was  full  of  dreams  of  ambition 
— ambition  of  the  most  lofty,  generous  character. 
The  youth  joyed  exceedingly  in  his  new  position, 


76  CLEVERNESS. 

but  he  joyed  still  more  in  what  was  far  beyond 
his  years — in  philosophy,  in  poetry,  which  he 
delighted  in  translating  fi-om  one  language  to 
another,  and  in  all  things  abstruse  as  well  as 
beautifuL  His  disposition  was  sweet  and  gen- 
erous; and  when  an  irritability,  which  had  in- 
creased of  late  so  as  to  give  even  his  mother 
mucli  concern,  caused  him  to  say  or  do  any- 
thing that  was  painful  or  unjust  to  the  humblest 
servant,  he  apologised  at  once  with  so  much 
w^irmth  and  regret,  as  to  win  by  his  very  fault. 
Like  those  beautiful  flowers  which,  born  of  the 
sun,  die  by  the  sun,  his  very  soul  opened  to  the 
heat  and  fever  of  the  sun  of  knowledge,  and  the 
more  expanded  the  flower  became,  the  neai-er  it 
approached  its  end.  Every  one  saw  this  Jiow, 
except  those  whom  it  most  concerned.  The 
occasional  fits  of  lassitude  which  succeeded  much 
mental  or  bodily  exertion,  his  mother  attributed 
to  his  overgrowth,  not  to  any  other  cause — to  be 
cured  by  soups  and  jellies,  and  the  old-fashioned 
tonic  of  "bariv  and  perfume,"  which  Mrs.  Dig- 
gons  prevailed  upon  her  to  exchange  for  claret. 
His  tutor  felt  towards  this  wondrous  boy  as  a 
skilful  mechanist  would  towards  an  automaton, 
upon  the  construction  of  which  he  had  expended 
an  existence.  Lucy  was  certainly  the  only  one 
who  felt  that  the  youth  was  not  well;  but  she 
never  thought  of  him  and  death  together.  There 
had  been  much  talk  of  sending  him  to  Oxford 
with  his  tutor,  and  even  that  separation  his  de- 
voted sister  could  not  bear  to  think  of.     Before 


CLEVERNESS. 


77 


those  children  had  been  given  up  to  such  in- 
tense study,  Lucy  had  laid  in  a  greater  store  of 
strength  than  her  brother,  consequently  she  had 
not  suffered  so  severely.  Her  anxiety  for  him 
wore  her  more  than  her  studies,  though  much 
that  he  learned  she  learned  with  him ;  still,  par- 
ticularly during  the  last  fifteen  months,  she  had 
ceased  to  be  the  object  of  even  divided  attention. 
Mrs.  Erris's  whole  soul  seemed  wound  up  in 
the  young  baronet.  If  he  had  been  wild,  and 
wilful,  and  careless  of  his  studies,  he  might  most 
likely  not  have  continued  so ;  for  he  was  certain 
of  being  distinguished  ;  and  that  was  too  sm-ely 
her  ambition.  But  though  she  ceased  to  urge 
forward,  she  had  not  endeavoured  to  hold  back, 
and  the  "  clever  family's  "  influence  over  her 
was  undiminished. 

"  Close  the  book,  dearest  brother,"  said  Lucy, 
as  she  wiped  his  damp  brow  with  her  handker- 
chief. *'  Do  close  it ;  the  sun  has  set,  and  you 
came  from  the  hbrary  for  relaxation."  A  ges- 
ture of  impatience  was  her  answer,  and  she 
continued  by  his  side  now  smiling  in  return  to 
his  smile,  and  sometimes  watching  the  glorious 
hues  of  the  clouds — the  good  night  of  the  sun  to 
his  attendant  vapours. 

Alfred  closed  his  book  with  a  heavy  sigh; 
and  leaning  back  on  his  sister's  shoulder,  so 
that  he  looked  up  into  her  face,  he  exclaimed, 
'  There,  Lucy !  I  have  done,  at  least  until  the 
amps  are  lit  in  the  study.  Shall  we  walk  now  ! 
i  ought  to  have  thought  of  your  walk  before, 


78  CLEVERNESS. 

you  who  have  been  working  with  me  all  day ; 
and  gh'ls  cannot  work  like  men  !" 

Lucy  smiled.  "Well,  6oys,  then,"  added  her 
brother,  understandinor  the  smile.  "Boys,  if 
you  call  me  so.  Boy  as  I  am,  Mr.  Salon  says 
\  shall  do  myself  credit  at  Oxford;  I  will  not 
be  a  mere  bookworm  there  either,  dear  Lucy. 
I  ho})8  to  be  a  statesman,  one  who  will  guide 
the  future.     I  must,   as  my  dear  mother  says, 

for  the  Jionour  of But,  oh  dear,  there  is 

that  pain  in  my  side  again,  as  if  the  very  idea  of 
anytliing  but  books  brought  it  there."  They 
stood  up. 

"Is  it  better  now,  Alfred]"  inquired  Lucy, 
gazing  earnestly  into  her  brother's  face;  "is  it, 
dearest?" 

"Yes — no,"  answered  the  boy.  "Let  us 
walk."  Li  another  moment  they  were  on  the 
terrace. 

"  What  a  beautiful  evening  this  is,  dear  Lucy  ; 
and  what  a  glorious  world  to  live  in ;  with 
power,  and  wealth,  and  rank,  all  handmaids 
to  do  my  bidding.  You  know  we  are  to  build 
the  alms-houses  down  there ;  they  are  to  be 
1/uurs,  Lucy;  and  I  think  [  shall  found  a  col- 
lege, only  I  wish  the  great  estate  was  not  so  far 
from  East-in-Rest,  I  love  this  place  so  dearly. 
Ay !  there  are  the  stars  coming  out  one  by  one. 
When  I  atn  of  age  I  will  build  an  observatory 
on  the  top  of  the  hill." 

"What!  the  squire's  hiin"  said  his  sister. 

"Ah,  ah,  I  forgot  that.    Do  you  know,  Lucy, 


CLEVERNESS.  79 

that  all  this  new  wealth  so  bewilders  me,  that  I 
feel  as  if  every  thing  I  looked  on  must  be  mine ; 
and  oh !  if  it  were,  would  I  not  make  a  happy, 
happy  world  1  Now,  dear  Lucy,  while  I  think 
of  it,  do  go  and  ask  old  Charles  to  carry  the 
telescope  to  tlie  hill-top ;  there  is  hardly  a  cloud 
to  hide  a  single  star,  and  we  will  spend  a  couple 
of  delightful  hours  in  computing  transits  and 
distances."  Away  flew  Lucy;  but  ere  she  had 
gone  a  dozen  yards,  she  paused  and  turned 
back. 

"  Alfred,  you  were  in  the  study  many  hours 
to-day ;  you  complain  of  pain  in  your  side ; 
your  dear  hands  are  hot  and  moist,  and  your 
lips  dry ;  it  will  tire  you  to  climb  the  hill-side — 
the  dew  is  falling." 

"  You  are  unkind,  Lucy,"  answered  the  im- 
patient boy.  "  You  know  that  those  stars  are 
to  me  worlds  of  delight.  Well,  I  will  call  Charles 
myself."  This  his  sister  would  not  permit,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  she  retiu'ned  with  his  cloak  on 
her  arm  ;  as  if  to  atone  for  his  little  pettishness, 
he  put  on  the  cloak  immediately,  and  leaving 
the  garden  by  a  wicket-gate,  they  crossed  the 
road,  and  ascended  the  hill  by  one  of  those 
winding  paths  which  they  had  often  traversed 
-when  children.  The  servants  preceded  them ; 
and  accustomed  as  they  were  to  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  these  two  children,  who  had  grown  up 
under  their  eyes,  Charles,  the  old  white-headed 
butler,  could  not  avoid  turning  back  frequently 
to  look  at  them  as  they  wound  up  the  hUl,  arm 


80  CLEVERNESS. 

twined  in  arm.  Lucy,  like  the  spirit  of  a  ze- 
phyr, so  slight  and  wand-like,  round  which  the 
soft  muslin  drapery  floated  like  a  cloud,  yet  still 
able  to  support  her  brother,  upon  whose  fair 
brow  the  cool  moonbeams  glistened  as  upon  an 
alabaster  orb. 

"He's  like  his  father,"  said  the  old  man; 
"like  what  he  was,  James — not  in  life,  but  on 
his  death-bed;  just  so  his  forehead  shone  in  the 
lamp-light  when  he'd  try  to  read." 

"  It's  seven  years  still  till  he'll  be  of  age,"  an- 
swered the  groom,  who  was  almost  as  old  as  the 
butler ;  "  but  he'll  gain  strength ;  horse  exercise 
is  the  thing  for  him." 

"And  claret,"  added  the  butler,  laying  down 
the  heavy  stand  of  the  telescope  to  rest  a  little. 
"  Well,  both ;  but  he  has  a  noble  spirit,  our 
young  master;  see  now,  when  he  looks  down 
upon  the  valley,  how  nobly  he  turns  his  head ! 
Sir  Alfred  Erris,  baronet,  that  will  sound  grand 
when  he  stands  for  the  county." 

"  Ay,  very  grand,"  rephed  Charles ;  "  there 
is  a  deal  in  a  grand  sound."  And  without  fur- 
ther converse,  the  pair  gained  the  plain  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  where  the  telescope  was  to  be 
placed. 

The  telescope  was  fixed  where  Alfred  desired ; 
the  old  servants  had  mastered  the  rising  ground, 
and  made  all  ready  for  those  they  so  dearly 
loved,  and  yet  the  youth  and  maiden,  hi  the 
very  spring  and  bound  of  life,  had  not  yet  reach- 
ed the  mossy  platform. 


CLEVERNESS.  81 

"Dear  me,  Sir  Alfred,"  said  the  old  coach- 
man, "  you  are  quite  out  of  breath ;  lean  on  me, 
sir." 

'*  It  is  all  the  fault  of  this  cloak  that  Lucy 
would  make  me  wear,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  un- 
fastening it  from  his  gasping  throat,  and  dash- 
ing it  down  ;  then  he  rushed  upward,  and  sprang 
upon  the  mount.  His  triumph  was  short-lived: 
before  they  could  say  he  stood  there  a  moment, 
he  fell  flat  upon  the  sward.  It  was  almost  as 
light  as  day,  so  clear  was  the  sky,  so  bright  the 
stars,  and  the  moon  shedding  its  clear  white 
light  over  all  the  country.  Lucy  knelt,  support* 
ing  his  head  on  her  bosom,  and  calling  on  him 
who  heard  her  not ;  blood  gushed  freely  from 
a  wound  in  his  temple,  which  a  sharp  pebble 
had  inflicted.  In  their  desire  for  a£sistance, 
both  the  old  servants  rushed  down  the  hill,  leav- 
ing the  sister  alone  with  her  brother;  he  soon 
became  conscious  of  her  presence,  complaining 
that  he  could  hardly  see,  and  that  his  head 
"turned  round." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

About  seven  hours  after  this  accident,  which 
agitated  the  whole  of  East-court,  Dr.  Itussel  re- 
tired frpm  the  bed-side  of  the  boy  upon  whom  so 
6 


82  CLEVERNESS. 

many  hopes  rested,  and  for  whom  so  many 
prayers  were  offered:  for,  independent  of  the 
rich  inheritance  of  blessing  which  descends  from 
noble  and  righteous  ancestry,  Alfred  was  loved 
and  honoured  by  all  who  came  within  the  influ- 
ence of  his  smile  and  the  bounty  of  his  generous 
hand.  The  good  old  doctor  did  not  leave  his 
favourite  until  the  arrival  of  two  eminent  phy- 
sicians told  him  it  was  time  to  do  so.  It  was 
determined  they  sliould  all  meet  in  the  morning, 
and  the  light  gray  twilight  was  already  spread- 
ing over  the  horizon,  yet  still  the  kind  old  man 
lingered  in  his  study.  He  was  writing  when  a 
tap  at  the  window,  which  opened  on  the  lawn, 
arrested  his  attention ;  he  unfastened  it,  and 
there  was  Lucy. 

"  Mamma  would  have  me  go  to  bed,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  could  not ;  she  will  not  rest  herself, 
yet  she  has  sent  me  from  him.  1  thought  you 
could  not  sleep  when  Alfred  was  so  ill,  and  I 
flew  across  the  lawns,  and  came  to  you,  my  dear 
kind  friend,  for  truth,  if  not  for  consolation.  Is 
he  very  ill?  Will  he  be  better  soon?  Will  he, 
my  brother,  will  he  soon  recover?  You  turn 
away  your  head ;  there  are  tears  upon  your 
cheek,  I  see;  I  understand  all  that;"  and  she 
stood  before  the  old  man,  whose  very  heart 
shook  within  him,  like  a  statue  struck  dumb  by 
his  agonizing  silence. 

At  last  he  succeeded  in  placing  her  in  a  chair; 
and  having  conquered  his  own  emotion,  by 
speaking  to  her  of  her  brother,  produced  a  vio- 


CLFVERXKS.S.  83 

lent  burst  of  tears.  He  mentioned  Alfred's  youth, 
change  of  scene,  mild  air,  and  talked  of  care, 
and  a  total  freedom  from  study,  of  rest,  of  there 
being  decidedly  no  immediate  danger ;  the  for- 
mer words  fell  from  his  lips  unnoticed ;  but  the 
saving  from  apprehension  of  immediate  danger 
was  what  effectually  recalled  Lucy  to  herself. 
She  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  blessed  her  vener- 
able friend  with  a  burst  of  grateful  feeling.  She 
then  became  more  calm,  clinging  to  the  assu- 
rance that  there  was  "  no  present  danger,"  as  if 
there  was  a  world  of  hope  beyond  it ;  and  so 
there  was  to  her.  The  dread  of  losing  her  brother 
at  the  time  was  so  appalling,  that  its  terror  being 
removed,  the  hope  of  her  young  heart  resumed 
its  pulsations ;  and  the  calmness  having  passed 
away,  she  alarmed  Dri  Russel  by  the  energy 
and  wildness  of  her  manner.  "  How  foolish  we 
have  been  to  fever  ourselves  so,"  she  exclaimed, 
talking  rapidly.  "  No  immediate  danger  !  Oh, 
how  I  rejoice  I  came  !  It  was  only  that  which 
I  feared;  it  is  such  a  fearful  thing  to  see  life 
stopped  at  once.  But  I  hitiv  that  could  not  be. 
Doctor,  when  he  was  bounding  by  my  side,  and 
then  fell  flat  upon  the  grass,  and  I  could  not 
feel  his  heart  beat,  I  thought,  when  I  kissed  his 
lips,  there  was  no  breath.  Oh,  how  the  heavens 
whirled  round  while  I  was  alone  with  him  on 
the  hill!  But  there  is  no  immediate  danger; 
and  we  shall  only  want  time,  with  God's  bless- 
ing, doctor,  to  strengthen  him.  How  we  will 
watch  him,  and  pray  for  him,  and  cradle  him  in 


84  CLEVERNESS. 

luxuries ;  create  an  atmosphere  for  him  to  hve 
in.  Noio  do  I  rejoice  more  than  ever  at  his 
new  station  and  wealtli ;  for  you  know,  no  mat- 
ter what  it  is,  he  can  command  «//." 

"  All  but  the  will  of  Heaven,"  observed  the 
old  doctor;  tor  he  feared,  from  Lucy's  flashing 
eyes  and  burning  cheeks,  that  seemed  to  scorch 
up  the  tears  she  had  shed,  that  her  reason 
reeled.  "Ail  but  the  will  of  Heaven!"  This 
short  sentence  supplied  Lucy  with  a  new  and 
painful  thought.  "Tell  me,"  she  said  eagerly, 
*'  did  you  ever  know  such  as  he  is — mind,  such 
as  he  is — struclt  down  before  the  fulfilment  of 
any  of  the  glorious  promises  of  his  youth?" 

The  doctor  paused :  he  knew  that  in  his  life 
he  had  never  seen  a  youth  who  would  bear  com- 
parison to  Alfred  Erris,  and  so  he  told  her  "he 
had  not."  This  seemed  to  afi^brd  her  great  con- 
solation ;  aud  arguing,  as  those  untutored  spirits 
do,  which  have  not  been  tempered  by  sorrow, 
she  felt  assured,  at  least  for  a  time,  that  God 
would  spare  him. 

One  of  the  physicians,  a  man  of  such  stand- 
ing in  his  profession  that  he  was  able  to  tell  the 
ti'utli  without  incurring  the  danger  of  losing  his 
practice,  said,  in  reply  to  Mrs.  Erris's  inquiries, 
"  The  illness  under  which  your  son  is  now  suf- 
fering may  be  called  what  we  please,  but  it  has 
originated  in  over-mental  excitement ;  the  brain 
has  been  overworked,  over  stimulated." 

The  j)oor  lady  shuddered.    "  But  it  is  not  too 


CLEVERNESS.  85 

late!"  she  exclaimed  eagerly;  "oh,  m  mercy, 
do  not  say  it  is  too  late  !" 

*'  I  hope  it  is  not,"  he  answered,  with  more 
feeling  than  was  usual  to  him.  "  I  trust  it  is 
not.     I  wish  I  had  seen  him  before." 

Mrs.  Erris  assured  him  that  in  every  respect 
she  would  attend  to  his  instructions,  that  she 
would  not  suffer  him  to  study,-  that  she  would 
send  Mr.  Salon  away  for  a  time,  that  his  books 
should  be  put  far  from  him,  that  he  should  not 
think. 

The  physician  arrested  her.  "  You  promise 
what  you  have  not  the  power  to  perform,"  he 
said  ;  "  and  parents,  all  who  have  influence  over 
the  education  of  youth,  would  do  w^ell  to  under- 
stand and  to  study  the  characters  and  dispo- 
sitions of  their  children,  before  they  submit  all 
to  the  same  discipline,  the  same  excitement. 
The  slothful — the  slow,  who  are  not  slothful ; 
the  heavy-headed — the  light  and  trifling,  who 
have  no  intellectual  subsoil — may  be  safely  m-ged 
forward;  and  if  their  cheeks  are  pale,  and  grow 
anxious,  withdraw  or  lighten  the  stimulus,  and 
the  creature  becomes  fat  and  ruddy  in  a  week ; 
not,  perhaps,  much  the  better  for  the  forced  ex- 
ertion, though  not  the  worse.  But  with  the  ar- 
dent, the  spiritualised — those  who  draw  inspira- 
tion from  everything  around  them,  who  see  and 
achieve ;  who  are  all  eye,  all  ear,  whose  nerves 
and  hearts  do  double  duty,  whose  sharpened 
senses  urge  them  forward,  to  stimulate  them  as 
you  do  the  slow  or  the  merry- minded — is  sheer 


86  CLEVERNESS. 

madness.  They  have  not  arrived  at  the  age 
when  the  moral  power  asserts  its  strength ;  they 
have  all  gifts  save  self-knowledge,  which  is  the 
produce  of  years:  they  cannot  calm  themselves. 
You  might  as  well  tell  the  burning  flax  to 
quench  itself.  I  see  the  insanity  of  this  over- 
working young  minds  every  day.  I  raise  a  cru- 
sade against  it  from  the  graves  of  those  who 
have  been  so  sacrificed ;   I  " 

The  physician  had  forgotten  to  whom  he  was 
speaking ;  but  a  pressure  of  his  arm  from  Dr. 
Russel's  hand  recalled  him.  He  saw  that  Mrs. 
Erris  was  trembling  before  him,  her  hands  clasp- 
ed, her  lips  compressed,  the  damp  dews  stand- 
ing on  her  brow;  and  stern  as  he  was,  angry  for 
that  he  knew,  in  opposition  to  the  intreaties  of 
those  who  loved  that  noble  boy  almost  as  well  as 
she  did,  he  had  pity  on  her.  She  had  been  led 
away  by  the  foolish  vanity  instilled  into  her  mind 
by  the  "clever  family;"  she  had  been  weak, 
not  wicked.  The  physician  inwardly  reproved 
himself,  and  sought  to  console  her.  At  present 
there  was  no  danger.  Use  every  effort,  not  ex- 
actly to  still  his  mind,  for  he  advised  that  would 
be  impossible — but  to  divert  it  to  something  else : 
there  must  be  an  abandonment  of  all  study, 
change  of  scene,  and  perfect  relaxation. 

In  pursuance  of  the  physician's  advice,  it  was 
at  length  arranged  that  the  young  baronet  should 
go  to  Italy.  The  whole  neighbourhood  were 
moved  to  one  general  prayer  for  his  recovery; 
for  if  he  died,  all  would  pass  to  one  of  another 


CLEVERNESS.  87 

name,  and  of  a  depraved  and  dishonoured  char- 
acter. The  venerable  master  of  East-court 
begged  to  accompany  his  sorrowing  friends. 

"  My  children  always  clung  to  you,"  said  the 
broken-hearted  but  grateful  mother;  "but  folly 
grew  with  me,  and  I  must  bear  the  punishment, 
though,  God  knows,  I  acted  for  the  best."  The 
wanderers  had  but  one  object,  the  restoration  of 
this  precious  creature.  The  dismissal  of  Mr. 
Salon  was  a  great  grief  to  him ;  but  his  mother 
consoled  him  by  the  assurance  that  his  salary 
should  be  continued.  They  journeyed  as  the 
English  in  health  or  sickness  love  to  journey. 
Alfred  enjoyed  everything  he  saw;  and  his 
mother  and  sister  had  no  enjoyment  but  in  him. 
At  first  he  was  much  better.  His  travelling 
physician,  and  his  friendly  physician.  Dr.  Rus- 
sel,  both  agreed  that  there  were  strong  reasons 
for  hope  ;  and  Lucy's  face  would  brighten,  and 
her  eyes  fill  with  tears  of  joy,  when  her  brother's 
voice  was  stronger,  or  his  step  lighter,  or  his  ap- 
petite improved.  With  a  keen  appreciation  of 
the  great  and  beautiful,  this  devoted  sister  saw 
nothing,  heard  nothing,  but  her  brother.  If  it 
were  possible  for  two  creatures  to  have  but  one 
soul,  it  might  have  been  their  case.  By  day 
and  night  she  was  by  his  side,  warding  off  the 
breeze,  shading  the  sun,  reading,  or  singing,  or 
reciting ;  doing  everything  he  desired ;  and  think- 
ing before  one  enjoyment  was  at  an  end  what 
the  next  should  be ;  utterly  careless  of  the  sen- 
sation created  by  her  own  unearthly  and  trans- 


88  CLEVERNESS. 

parent  beauty,  so  spiritual  in  its  character,  so 
elevated  in  its  deportment,  that  the  southerns 
looked  upon  her  as  a  being  rather  to  be  wor- 
shipped than  conversed  with. 

Alfred  was  better  for  a  few  weeks  of  travel, 
but  no  change  had  the  power  of  restoring  the 
tone  and  strength  destroyed  by  over-mental  ex- 
ertion. If  his  mind  could  have  slumbered,  so 
that  his  body  might  have  continued  undisturbed, 
the  youth  would  have  achieved  manhood  ;  but 
his  body  wasted  beneath  the  scourge  of  his  un- 
tiring mind.  His  nerves  were  overstrained  ;  he 
could  not  sleep ;  he  was  consumed  by  a  low 
wasting  fever.  His  restlessness  woidd  have 
worn  out  any  one  but  Lucy. 

'  If,"  said  the  travelhng  physician  to  his 
friend — "  if  he  endure  much  longer,  she  will  go 
the  first."  And  yet,  whether  it  was  that  the  cer- 
tainty Alfred  always  expressed  as  to  his  own  re- 
covery, or  the  belief  Lucy  hourly  repeated  to 
herself,  that  "  God  would  not  take  him  from  the 
world,"  occasioned  her  blindness,  she  did  not 
see  what  her  mother  dared  not  speak  of.  The 
youth  had  grown  much  worse,  and  yet  was  tell- 
ing his  mother  of  his  future  plans,  all  tending  to 
the  advancement  of  others,  and  mingling  the 
beautiful,  the  prosperous,  and  the  good  together, 
in  an  utterly  unworldly  way,  when  the  master 
of  Eastcourt  entered  with  an  open  letter  in  his 
hand,  his  face  brightened  by  one  of  his  old  looks 
of  happiness.     "  Good  news,"  he  said,  "  a  letter 


CLEVERNESS.  89 

from  Master  Isaac,  stating  that  Mr.  Diggons 
wishes  me  to  take  Deerstoiie  off  his  hands." 

"  They  were  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Alfred, 
"  and  yet  I  am  glad.  Oh,  send  them  away  at 
once  !  and  then,  mamma,  let  us  go  home.  Do, 
mother  ;  take  me  home  !"  This  appeal  was  an- 
swered by  a  burst  of  tears  from  his  mother,  for, 
while  speaking,  he  stretched  forth  his  hands  to- 
wards her,  and  the  light  being  rather  strong  upon 
them,  shone  almost  through  them.  Oh,  how 
attenuated  !  They  were  transparent !  yet  firm- 
ly clasped  together,  while  the  boy  again  intreat- 
ed,  "  Oh,  mother,  take  me  home  !" 

"  How  you  all  look  !"  exclaimed  Lucy,  twin- 
ing her  ready  arm  around  his  neck,  and  gazing 
in  his  flushed  face.  "  Yes,  dearest  Alfred,  there 
is  no  need  for  this  excitement ;  we  will  go  home 
immediately,  if  you  like,  if  the  doctors  say  you 
are  strong  enough  for  the  journey." 

*'  I  am,"  he  said,  half  rising  from  the  sofa. 
"  I  want  to  be  at  home  ;  that  is  all  I  want  now. 
I  have  had  rest  and  change  ;  and  now  I  wish  to 
get  to  work  agam.  Time  is  passing.  1  ought 
to  be  at  Oxford.  I  want  my  books.  If  you  let 
me  have  my  books,  I  can  sleep.  Look  how 
strong  I  am.  Stand  with  me,  Lucy,  that  they 
may  see  me  walk.     There  !" 

He  stood  for  a  moment  by  his  sister's  side,  she 
still  gazing  in  his  face  ;  and  the  brightness  of 
the  sunbeams,  that  came  through  the  half-open 
window,  played  like  a  glory  round  their  heads. 

"  Now,  dearest  mother,  will  you  not  take  me 


90  CLEVERNESS. 

home  ;  home  to  England  1"  Lucy  feh  the  arm 
of  her  brother  relax  its  hold ;  she  clasped  him 
more  closely — closer  still.  "  Alfred  !"  she  whis- 
pered :  "  Alfred  !"  He  was  on  the  sofa,  but  she 
still  clasped  him.  Her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound 
escaped  them.  She  heard  not  her  mother's 
screams,  nor  the  more  collected  words  of  her 
friends.  Still,  Lucy  gazed  into  those  "  windows 
of  the  soul;"  they  were  open  still,  but  their 
light,  their  soul,  was  gone  ! 

Some  time  passed,  and  though  every  day  it 
was  said  at  Nice  that  the  English  lady  and  suite, 
whose  beautiful  son  died,  as  she  thought,  sud- 
denly, would  leave  the  following  day,  they  were 
still  there.  Since  her  brother's  death,  Lucy  shed 
no  tear,  spoke  no  word.  The  last  sound  she  ut- 
tered was  "Alfred."  She  knew  no  one.  Move 
her,  she  did  not  resist.  Gentle  and  passive,  she 
made  neither  sign  nor  complaint ;  did  not  re- 
turn her  mother's  tearful  caresses,  nor  observe 
when,  at  last,  she  was  placed  in  the  carriage  to 
return  home.  This  "  living  death  "  roused  her 
mother;  but  nothing  seemed  to  awaken  her, 
until,  when  the  day  after  they  returned  to  East- 
in-Rest,  Doctor  Russel  took  her  to  the  pavilion 
in  the  garden,  where  her  childhood  passed  so 
happily  with  her  brother.  She  shed  a  few  tears 
from  this  time.  Her  consciousness  returned  in 
some  degree,  though  she  never  mentioned  her 
brother's  name.  She  would  occasionally  mur- 
mur over  snatches  of  the  poems  they  read  toge- 
ther, and  hsten  when  the  Bible  was  read  to  her. 


CLEVERNESS.  91 

She  sank,  however,  daily — imperceptibly ;  smil- 
ing, as  her  end  drew  nigh,  in  a  sweet,  unearthly 
way,  on  those  around  her,  all  gentleness  and 
love.  Once,  drawing  Doctor  Russel's  head  close 
to  her,  so  close,  that  his  long  white  hair  mingled 
with  the  rich  brown  tresses  that  wreathed  her 
throat  and  shoulders,  she  whispered,  "  I  can  say 
now,  thy  will  be  done  !"  and  thus  she  departed. 
Those  who  visit  the  sweet  village  of  East-court 
now,  will  find  it  changed.  The  old  manor-house, 
though  still  inhabited  by  a  family  of  the  name  of 
Russel,  are  greatly  respected,  talk  of  their  good 
uncle,  whose  monument  has  been  lately  placed 
in  the  church.  But  what  chiefly  attracts  the 
eye,  is  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  house  called 
East-iii-Rest.  Every  window  is  closed  ;  shel- 
tered up  completely.  And  the  escutcheon  above 
the  entrance  has  remained  there  so  long,  that  it 
is  garlanded,  as  if  in  mockery,  by  roses  and 
other  climbing  plants,  wild  and  untrimmed  for 
years.  The  lady  of  the  house,  the  people  say,  a 
childless  widow,  resides  there,  and  is  sometimes 
seen  wandering  amid  the  tangled  walks,  for 
nothing  has  been  trimmed  since  her  children 
died  ;  passing  silently  along,  or,  if  she  speaks 
to  any,  it  is  to  some  mother  with  children  around 
her,  and  she  intreats  her  earnestly,  as  if  plead- 
ing for  her  own  hfe,  "  not  to  force  the  flower — 
not  to  force  the  flower  prematurely." 


THE  GOVERNESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Of  course  I  head  my  advertisement  thus  :— 
*  Wanted — a  governess,' "  commenced  Mrs.  Gre- 
sham ;  but  before  I  permit  her  to  read  it,  I  ought 
to  state  that  she  had  called  upon  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Hylier,  to  consult  concerning  this  important 
composition,  to  be  sent  that  day  to  the  Mornivg 
Post — Mrs.  Gresham  and  Mrs.  Hylier  being 
both  in  want  of  resident  governesses  to  educate 
their  children.  A  visiter  was  also  there,  a  Mrs. 
Ryal,  confessedly  the  "  most  clever  woman  "  of 
the  neighbourhood — an  astonishing  manager ! — 
but  although  the  ladies  desired  her  advice,  they 
were  somewhat  in  dread  of  her  sarcasm. 

Mrs.  Gresham  had  again  repeated  ".'  Wanted 
— a  governess,' "  when  an  old  gentleman,  a  Mr. 
Byfield,  was  announced.  The  trio  of  wives 
and  mothers  looked  at  each  other,  as  well  as  to 
say,  "  What  a  bore !" — and  then  Mrs.  Hylier 
rose  gracefully  from  her  chaise  longue^  and, 
Smiling  sweetly,  extended  her  hand,  and  wel- 
comed Mr.  Byfield  with  exceeding  warmth  of 
manner;  while  Mrs.  Gresham  and  Mrs.  Ryal 


THE    GOVERNESS.  93 

declared  aloud  their  delight  at  being  so  foitimate 
as  to  meet  a  neighbour  they  had  so  seldom 
the  pleasure  to  see. 

The  party  thus  assembled  were  all  inhabitants 
of  the  bustling  yet  courtly  suburb  of  Kensing- 
ton ;  and  Mr.  Byfield  being  a  rich  and  influen- 
tial, though  a  very  eccentric  man,  was  sure  of 
being  treated  with  the  distinction  which  people 
of  small  means  are  too  prone  to  bestow  upon 
those  whose  means  are  more  extensive. 

"Do  not  let  me  interrupt  you  in  the  least, 
ladies,"  said  the  old  man,  quietly  taking  his 
seat  near  the  window.  "  Mr.  Hylier  promised 
I  should  look  over  these  gems  by  daylight ;  and 
when  you  have  talked  your  own  talk,  there  will 
be  time  enough  to  talk  mine."  The  ladies,  one 
and  all,  declared  their  conviction  that  his  "talk" 
must  be  more  pleasant  and  instructive  than 
theirs.  He  did  not  deny  this,  but  smiled — shook 
his  head — touched  his  hat  (which  he  had  laid 
down  at  his  feet,)  as  if  to  say  he  would  either  go 
or  have  his  own  way.  And  so  Mrs.  Gre- 
sham  recommenced  reading  her  advertisement — 
" '  Wanted — a  governess.  Any  lady  possessing  a 
sound  English  education,  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  the  theory  and  practice  of  instrumental  and 
vocal  music,  and  a  perfect  acquaintance  with 
the  French,  Italian,  and  German  languages; 
also  with  the  rudiments  of  Latin.' " 

"  Latin  !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Ryal.  "  Lathi ! 
why,  what  do  you  waiit  with  Latiu  foi*  a  pack  of 
girls  1" 


94  THE    GOVERNESS. 

"  I  thought,"  answered  Mrs.  Gresham  meek- 
ly, "that  as  there  are  but  three  gh'ls,  Teddy 
might  do  his  lessons  with  them  for  a  httle  while, 
and  that  would  save  the  expense  of  a  tutor." 

"  Oh,  very  good — very  good,"  replied  Mrs. 
Ryal ;  "then  add  also,  Greek;  if  the  governess 
is  any  thing  of  a  classic,  you'll  get  both  for  the 
same  money." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  Ryal ;  how  clever 
you  are!  G-r-,  there  are  two  'ees'  in  Greek? — 
'  also  the  rudiments  of  Latin  and  Greek.'" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  once  more,"  said  the 
provokingly  "clever  lady  ;"  "  but  put  Greek  and 
Latin,  that  is  the  correct  way." 

"'  Greek  and  Latin,  and  the  principles  of 
drawing — if  her  character  will  bear  the  strictest 
investigation,  may  hear  of  a  highly  respectable 
situation  by  applying  to  Z.  P.'  " 

"  Post  paid,"  again  suggested  Mrs.  Ryal. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Mrs.  Gresham  ;  "  'and 
as  the  lady  will  be  treated  as  one  of  the  family, 
a  high  salary  will  not  be  given."' 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ryal,  "  I  think  that  will  do. 
You  have  not  specified  writing  and  arithmetic." 

"  English  education  includes  that,  does  it  notl " 

"  Why,  yes ;  but  you  have  said  nothmg  about 
the  sciences." 

"  The  children  are  so  young." 

"But  they  grow  older  every  day." 

"  Indeed  that  is  true,"  observed  pretty  Mrs. 
Hylier  with  a  sigh,  and  a  glance  at  the  pier-glass. 
"  Mv  Ellen,  though  only  ten,  looks  thirteen.     I 


THE    GOVERNESS.  95 

wish  her  papa  would  let  her  go  to  school ;  but 
one  of  his  sisters  imbibed  some  odd  philosophic 
notions  at  school,  so  that  he  wont  hear  of  it,  but 
talks  about  the  necessity  of  putting  female  semi- 
naries under  the  superintendence  of  government, 
and  I  really  know  not  what." 

"I  certainly,"  observed  Mrs.  Ryal,  "will  not 
take  a  governess  into  my  house  again  to  reside 
— they  are  all  exigeant.  One  was  imprudent 
enough  to  wish  to  get  married,  and  expected  to 
come  into  the  drawing  room  when  there  was 
company  of  an  evening.  Another  would  have  a 
bedroom  to  herself,  though,  I  am  sure,  no  one 
could  object  to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  my 
own  maid.  Another — really  the  world  is  very 
depraved — occasioned  a  painful  difference  be- 
tween Mr.  Ryal  and  myself;  and  let  that  be  a 
warning  to  you,  my  dear  friends,  not  to  admit 
any  pretty,  quiet,  sentimental  young  ladies  into 
your  domestic  circles.  Mr.  Ryal  is  a  very  charm- 
ing man,  and  a  good  man ;  but  men  are  but 
men  after  all,  and  can  be  managed  by  any  one 
who  will  flatter  them  a  little.  Of  course,  he  is  a 
man  of  the  highest  honour  ;  but  there  is  no  ne- 
cessity for  having  a  person  in  the  house  who 
plays  or  sings  better  than  ones-self." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Ryal!"  exclaimed  both 
voices,  "  you  need  never  fear  comparison  with 
any  one."  The  jealous  lady  looked  pleased,  but 
shook  her  head.  "  VV  ell,  at  last  I  resolved  to 
be  my  own  governess — with  the  assistance  of  a 
young  person,  who   comes  daily  for  three^  and 


96  THE    GOVERNESS. 

sometimes  I  get  four,  hours  out  of  her;  and  she 
is  very  reasonable — two  guineas  a-month,  and 
dines  with  the  children.  She  is  not  all  I  could 
wish ;  her  manners  are  a  little  defective,  for  she 
is  not  exactly  a  lady ;  her  father  is  a  very  res- 
pectable man,  keeps  that  large  butter  shop  at 
the  corner — I  forget — somewhere  off  Piccadilly 
— but  I  prefer  it,  my  dear  ladies,  I  prefer  it — she 
does  all  the  drudgery  icithout  grumbling.  Your 
officers'  and  clergymen's  daughters,  and  decayed 
gentlewomen,  why,  their  high-toned  manners — 
if  they  never  speak  a  word — prevent  one's  being 
quite  at  ease  with  them,  though  they  are,  after 
all,  only  governesses." 

"  But,"  suggested  Mrs.  Gresham  mildly, 
"lady-like  manners  are  so  very  necessary." 

'*  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Ryal,  "  so  they  are  ; 
for  you  and  I  " 

"  And  children  so  easily  imbibe  vulgar  habits, 
that  it  is  really  necessary  to  have  a  lady  with 
them." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ryal,  with  a  sneer,  "  ladies 
are  plenty  enough.  I  daresay  you  will  have 
fifty  answers.  What  salary  do  you  mean  to 
give  V 

Mrs.  Gresham  was  a  timid  but  kind-hearted 
woman,  one  who  desired  to  do  right,  but  had 
hardly  courage  to  combat  wrong.  She  was  in- 
capable of  treating  any  thing  unkindly,  but  she 
would  be  guilty  of  injustice  if  justice  gave  her 
much  trouble ;   she  hesitated,  because  she  re- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  97 

quired  a  great  deal,  and  intended  to  give  very 
little. 

"J  cannot  give  more  than  five-and-twenty 
pounds  a-year  to  any  one,"  said  Mrs.  Hylier  in 
a  decided  tone.  "My  husband  says  we  cannot 
afford  to  keep  two  men-servants  and  a  governess  ; 
he  wanted  me  to  give  the  governess  seventy,  and 
discharge  Thomas;  but  that  was  quite  impossi- 
ble ;  so  I  have  made  up  my  mind :  there  are 
only  two  girls.  No  after  claps,  like  my  sister 
Gresham's  little  'Teddy;'  she  can  spend  every 
evening  in  the  drawing-room  when  we  are  by 
ourselves — have  the  keys  of  the  piano  and  li- 
brary— amuse  herself  with  my  embroidery — go 
to  church  in  the  carriage  on  Sunday — and  drive 
at  least  once  a-week  with  the  children  in  the 
Park.  There!"  added  Mrs.  Hylier;  "I  am 
sure  there  are  hundreds  of  accomplished  women 
who  would  jump  at  such  a  situation  if  they  knew 
of  it." 

"  Washing  included  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Ryal. 

"  No.  I  think  she  must  pay  her  own  wash- 
ing, unless  there  was  some  great  inducement." 

"  You  allow  no  followers  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly  not.  What  can  a  governess 
want  of  friends  1  Her  pupils  ought  to  have  all 
her  time." 

"God  help  her!"  murmured  the  old  gentle- 
man. The  murmur  was  so  indistinct  that  the 
ladies  only  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  Mrs. 
Hylier  said,  "  Did  you  speak,  sir  V  There  was 
no  answer.  The  conversation  was  resumed  with 
7 


9S  THE    GOVERNESS. 

a  half  whisper  from  one  lady  to  another,  that 
perhaps  Mr.  Byfield  was  not  deaf  at  all  thnes. 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  giving,  Mrs.  Gres- 
ham  1"  questioned  Mrs.  Ryal. 

*'  I  have  three  girls  and  a  boy,"  she  replied ; 
"  and  I  thought  of  forty." 

"  It  will  be  impossible  to  prevent  your  govern- 
ess from  talking  to  mine,  and  then  mine  will  get 
discontented  ;  that  is  not  fair,  Fanny,"  observed 
her  sister ;  "  say  five-and-thirty,  allowing  for  the 
difference  of  number." 

"  And  plenty,  I  call  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ryal. 
*'  What  do  they  want  but  clothes  1  They  never 
lay  by  for  a  rainy  day.  There  are  hundreds — 
yes,  of  well-boni  and  well-bred  ladies — who 
would  be  glad  of  such  situations." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
rising  and  advancing  to  where  the  three  Ken- 
sington wives  were  seated ;  I  am  very  sorry  for 
it." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Byfield  !  why,  we  shall  have 
the  better  choice." 

"  Forgive  me,  ladies,  for  saying  so — but  still 
more  am  I  grieved  at  that.  Permit  me  to  read 
your  advertisement." 

Mrs.  Gresham  coloured;  Mrs.  Hylier  had 
sufficient  command  over  herself  not  to  appear 
annoyed ;  but  Mrs.  Ryal,  the  oracle  of  a  clique^ 
the  "  clever  woman,"  who  had,  by  the  dint  of 
self-esteem  and  effrontery,  established  a  reputa- 
tion of  intellectual  superiority  over  those  who 
were  either  too  indolent  or  too  ignorant  to  ques- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  99 

tion  her  authority,  evinced  her  displeasure  by 
throwing  herself  back  in  her  chair,  loosening  the 
tie  of  her  bonnet,  and  dressing  her  lips  in  one  of 
those  supercilious  smiles  that  would  mar  the 
beauty  of  an  an  gel. 

"  '  Wanted,  a  governess,'  "  read  the  old  gen- 
tleman, who  frequently    interrupted   himself  to 
make  the  following  observations  ; — "  '  Any  lady 
possessing  a  sound  English  education  ' — that  in 
itself  is  no  easy  thing  to  attain—'  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  theory  and  practice  of  vocal 
and  instrumental  music  ' — a  tliorough  knowledge 
of  the  theory  and  practice  of  either  the  one  or 
the  otlier  requires  the  labour  of  a  man's  life,  my 
good  ladies — -'  and  a  perfect  acquaintance  with 
the  French,  Italian,  and   German  languages  ' — 
how  very  useless  and  absurd  to  found   professor- 
ships of  modern  languages  in  our  new  colleges, 
when,  in  addition  to  the  musical  knowledge  that 
would  create  a  composer,   a   single   person,   a 
young  female,  can  be  found  possessed  of  a  '-per- 
fect acquaintance '   with    French,   Italian,    and 
German  !     Oh,  wonderful  age  ! — '  also,  the  ru- 
diments of  Greek  and   Latin — may  hear  of  a 
highly  respectable  situation  by  applying  to  Z.  P., 
post  paid,  Fost-Office,  Kensington.'     Much  as 
you  expect  in  the  way  of  acquirements  and  ac- 
complishments, ladies,"  continued  the  critic,  still 
retaining  fast  hold  of  poor  Mrs.  Gresham's  com- 
position, "  you  have  not  demanded  a  great  deal 
on  the  score  of  rehgion  or  morahty — neither  are 
mentioned  in  your  list  of  requisites." 


100  THE    GOVERNESS. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hylier,  "they  are 
taken  for  granted.  No  one  would  think  of  en- 
gaging a  governess  that  was  not  moral  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  which  are  always  matters  of 
course." 

"To  be  sm*e  they  are,"  added  Mrs.  Ryal,  in 
that  peremptory  tone  which  seemed  to  say,  Do 
you  dare  to  question  my  opinion  1  "  To  be 
sure  they  are  ;  every  one  knows  that  nothing  can 
be  more  determined  with  respect  to  religion  and 
morality  than  my  practice  with  my  children. 
Rain,  hail,  or  sunshine,  well  or  ill,  the  governess 
must  be  in  the  house  before  the  clock  strikes 
nine.  Psalms  read  the  first  thing  ;  and  if  they 
have  not  got  well  through  the  French  verbs,  a 
chapter  besides  for  punishment ;  catechism,  Wed- 
nesdays and  Fridays  ;  and  the  collect,  epistle, 
and  gospel,  by  heart,  every  Sunday  after  church. 
I  always  do  two  things  at  once,  when  I  can,  and 
this  strengthens  their  memory,  and  teaches  them 
religion  at  the  same  time  ;  it  looks  narrow-mind- 
ed ;  and  yet  mine  never  dreams  of  objecting  to 
what  I  desire." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  was  Mr.  Byfield's  quiet 
rejoinder  ;  "  strange  ideas  your  children  will  en- 
tertain of  the  rehgion  that  is  rendered  a  punish- 
ment instead  of  a  reward." 

Mrs.  Ryal  grasped  the  tassel  of  her  mutf,  but 
m.ide  no  reply. 

"  Oh,"  he  continued,  "  here  is  the  pith  in  a 
postscript — '  As  the  lady  will  be  treated  as  one 
of  the  family,  a  high  salary  will  not  be  given.' 


THE    GOVERNESS.  101 

Ladies  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  "  do  you  not 
blush  at  this  1  You  ask  for  the  fruits  of  an  edu- 
cation that,  if  It  be  half  what  you  demand,  must 
have  cost  the  governess  the  labour  of  a  life,  and 
her  friends  many  hundred  pounds.  It  is  your 
DUTY  to  treat  the  person  who  is  capable  of  be- 
stowing upon  your  children  the  greatest  of  earth- 
ly blessings  as  one  of  your  family  ;  and  yet  you 
make  the  doing  so  a  reason  for  abridging  a  sti- 
pend, which,  if  stretched  to  the  utmost  of  what 
governesses  receive,  pays  a  wretched  interest  for 
both  time  and  money.     Shame,  ladies,  shame  !" 

The  ladies  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  last 
Mrs.  Hylier  said,  "  Really,  sir,  I  do  not  see  it 
at  all  in  the  light  in  which  you  put  it.  I  know 
numberless  instances  where  they  are  glad  to 
come  for  less." 

Tears  came  into  Mrs.  Gresham's  eyes,  and 
Mrs.  Ryal  kicked  the  ottoman  violently. 

"  The  more's  the  pity,"  continued  Mr.  By- 
field;  "  but  I  hold  it  to  be  a  principle  of  English 
honesty  to  pay  for  value  received,  and  of  Enghsh 
honour  not  to  take  advantage  of  distress." 

*'  Suppose  we  cannot  afford  it,  sir — am  I  to  do 
without  a  governess  for  my  children  because  my 
husband  cannot  pay  to  one  sixty  or  seventy 
pounds  a-year?" 

"  But  you  said  just  now,  madam,  that  Mr. 
Hylier  wished  you  to  pay  that  sum." 

"  Yes,"  stammered  the  fair  economist,  "  if — 
if"— 

*'  If  you  could  manage  with  one  footman^'' 


102  THE    GOVERNESS. 

said  the  old  gentleman,  "  instead  of  two.  In  my 
young  days,  my  wife,  who  had  but  one  child, 
and  we  were  poor,  sa'd  to  me — *  Joseph,  our 
o^irl  is  growing  up  without  education,  and  I  can- 
not teach,  for  I  never  learned,  but  we  must  send 
lier  to  school.'  I  answered  that  we  could  not 
afford  it.  *  Oh,  yes,  we  can,'  she  said ;  M  will 
discharge  our  servant ;  I  will  curtail  our  ex- 
penses in  every  way,  because  I  am  resolved  that 
she  shall  be  well-educated,  and  honestly  paid  for.' 
It  never  occurred  to  that  right-minded  yet  simple- 
hearted  woman  to  propose  lower  terms  to  a  gov- 
erness, but  she  proposed  less  indulgence  to  her- 
self. Thus  she  rendered  justice.  She  would 
have  worked  her  fingers  to  the  bone  sooner  than 
have  bargained  for  intellect.  Ay,  Mrs.  Ryal, 
you  may  laugh;  but  of  all  meannesses,  the 
meanest  is  that  which  depreciates  mind,  and 
having  no  power  but  that  which  proceeds  from 
a  full  purse,  insults  the  indigence  which  has 
more  of  the  immaterial  world  beneath  its  russet 
gown  than  your  wealth  can  purchase." 

"  My  wealth  !"  exclaimed  the  offended  lady  ; 
"  your  wealth,  if  you  please  ;  but  though  your 
wealth,  and  your  oddity,  and  your  altogether, 
may  awe  some  people,  it  can  have  no  effect  upon 
me,  Mr.  Byfield; — none  in  the  world ;  every  one 
says  you  are  a  strange  creature." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Ryal,"  said  Mrs.  Hylier, 
*'  you  positively  must  not  grow  angry  with  our 
dear  friend,  Mr.  Byfield ;  he  does  not  mean  half 
what  he  says." 


THE    GOVERNESS.  103 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  the  eccen- 
tric old  gentleman ;  "  I  mean  a  great  deal  more. 
I  only  wish  I  had  the  means  of  sending  forth  to 
the  world  my  opinion  as  to  the  inestimable  value 
of  domestic  education  for  females.  I  would  have 
every  woman  educated  within  the  sanctuary  of 
her  own  home.  I  would  not  loosen  the  smallest 
fibre  of  the  affection  which  binds  her  to  her  fath- 
er's house ;  it  should  be  at  once  her  altar  and 
her  throne  ;  but  as  it  is  a  blessing  which  circum- 
stances prevent  many  from  enjoying,  I  would 
command  the  legislature  of  this  mighty  country 
to  devise  some  means  for  the  better  ordering  and 
investigation  of  *  ladies'  boarding-schools.*  To 
set  up  an  establishment  for  young  ladies  is  very 
often  the  last  resource  for  characterless  women, 
and  persons  who,  failing  in  every  thing  else,  re- 
sort to  that  as  a  means  of  subsistence  ;  whereas 
such  should  be  under  the  closest  superintendence 
of  high-minded  and  right-thinking  gentlewomen. 
I  look  upon  the  blue-boarded  and  brass-plated 
schools  that  swarm  in  our  suburbs,"  he  added, 
as  he  turned  away  to  Jiide  an  emotion  he  could 
not  control — -"  I  look  upon  them  as  the  very 
charnel-houses  of  morality." 

Mrs.  Ryal  elevated  her  eye  brows,  and  shrug- 
ged her  shoulders,  while  the  gentle  Mrs.  Gres- 
ham  whispered  her  "  not  to  mind  ;  that  Mr  By- 
field  was  half  mad  on  the  subject  of  schools." 

"  Ladies,"  said  the  old  man,  apparently  re- 
covered from  his  agitation,  and  in  his  usually 
quiet,  calm,  yet  harshly-toned  voice;  "ladiea, 


104  THE    GOVERNESS. 

you  are,  in  different  degrees,  all  women  of  the 
world ;  you  live  with  it,  and  for  it,  and  you  are 
of  it ;  but  you  are  also  mothers.  And  though 
your  Ellen,  Mrs.  Hylier,  does  grow  so  fast  as 
almost  to  overtake  her  mother's  beauty,  and  you, 
Mrs.  Ryal,  stand  in  open  defiance  of  vulgar 
contagion,  because  you  fear  a  rival  in  a  well- 
bred  governess,  and  get  more  time  out  of  your 
daily  labourer  than  you  would  expect  from  your 
milliner  for  the  same  money;  and  you,  Mrs. 
Gresham — ^but  1  cannot  say  to  you  more  than 
that  you  all  love  your  children — some  more, 
some  less.  Still,  according  to  your  natures, 
you  all  love  them  dearly.  So  did  I  mine.  My 
child  was  all  the  world  to  me.  I  told  you  what 
her  poor  mother  did  for  her  improvement — the 
sacrifice  she  made.  But  though  we  had  the 
longing  to  secure  for  her  every  advantage,  we 
had  no  skill  as  to  the  means  of  obtaining  the 
knowledge  we  so  desired  her  to  possess.  We 
placed  her  at  a  '  first-rate  school,'  as  it  was  call- 
ed, and  thought  we  had  done  our  duty;  but  this 
going  from  her  home  loosed  the  cords  of  love 
that  bound  her  to  us.  And  when  a  sudden  stroke 
of  good  fortune  converted  a  poor  into  a  rich  man, 
and  we  brought  our  child  to  a  splendid  house, 
we  found  that  our  daughter's  morals  had  be- 
come corrupted  through  the  means  of  her  com- 
panions— an  evil,  the  most  difficult  of  all  for  a 
governess  to  prevent — and  that  she  had  imbibed 
moral  poison  with  her  mental  food."  The  old 
gentleman  became  so  agitated,  that  he  could 


THE    GOVERNESS.  105 

not  proceed ;  and  angry  as  the  ladies  had  been 
with  him  a  few  moments  before  for  a  plam- 
speaking  which  amounted  to  rudeness,  they 
could  not  avoid  sympathising  with  his  feelings. 

"  But  we  are  not  going  to  send  our  children 
to  a  school,"  suggested  Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  I  know  that,  madam,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  I 
want  to  convince  you,  by  comparison,  of  the 
blessings  that  await  the  power  of  cultivating 
both  the  intellect  and  the  affections  under  your 
own  roof,  and  so  argue  you  into  the  necessity  for 
paying  honestly,  if  not  liberally,  the  woman  upon 
the  faithful  discharge  of  whose  duties  depends 
the  future  happiness  or  miseiy  of  those  dear 
ones  whom  you  have  brought  into  the  world. 
It  is  now  twenty-two  years  since  I  saw  that 
daughter;  I  shall  never  see  her  again  in  this 
world;  I  thought  I  had  strength  to  tell  you 
the  story,  painful  as  it  is,  but  I  have  not.  I 
would  have  done  so,  in  the  hope  that  I  might 
have  shown  you  how  valuable,  past  all  others, 
are  the  services  rendered  by  a  worthy  and  up- 
right woman  when  entrusted  with  the  education 
of  youth ;  but  when  I  think  of  my  lost  child,  I 
forget  every  thing  else.  She  stands  before  me 
as  I  speak.  My  blue-eyed  lovely  one  !  all  inno- 
cence and  truth — the  hght,  and  life,  and  love  of 
that  small  four- roomed  cottage ;  and  then  she 
loved  me  truly  and  dearly ;  and  there  again  she 
is — most  beautiful,  but  cankered  at  the  heart, 
fair,  and  frail !  Lay  your  children  in  their  graves, 
and  ring  the  joy-bells  over  them  sooner  than  in- 


106  THE    GOVERNESS. 

trust  them  to  the  whirhng  pestilence  of  a  large 
school,  or  the  care  of  a  cheap  governess  !" 

"  He  certamly  is  mad,"  whispered  Mrs.  Ryal 
to  Mrs.  Hylier,  while  the  old  gentleman,  folding 
his  hands  one  within  the  other,  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  his  thoughts  evidently  far  away 
from  the  three  wives,  who  were  truly,  as  he  said, 
"  mere  women  -of  the  world."  And  yet  he  was 
right — they  all  loved  their  children,  but  it  was 
after  their  own  fashion  ;  Mrs.  Gresham  with  the 
most  tenderness — she  wished  them  to  be  good 
and  happy ;  Mrs.  Hylier's  affection  was  mingled 
with  a  strong  desire  that  they  might  continue  in 
a  state  of  innocence  as  long  as  possible,  and  not 
grow  too  fast.  Mrs.  Ryal  had  none  of  that 
weakness ;  she  did  not  care  a  bit  whether  she  was 
considered  old  or  young,  as  long  as  she  was  obey- 
ed ;  so  she  determined  her  girls  should  have  as  lit- 
tle of  what  is  called  heart  as  possible,  that  they 
might  be  free  to  accept  the  best  offers  when  they 
were  made.  She  was  continually  contrasting 
riches  and  poverty.  All  the  rich  were  angels, 
and  all  the  poor  thieves ;  there  were  no  ex- 
ceptions ;  those  who  married  according  to  their 
parents'  wishes  rode  in  carriages,  with  two  tall 
footmen  behind  each ;  those  who  married  for 
love  walked  a-foot  with  draggled  tails,  and  died 
in  a  workhouse.  Of  all  the  women  in  Kensing- 
ton, Mr.  Byfield  disliked  Mrs.  Ryal  the  most, 
and  seeing  her  at  Mrs.  Hyher's  had  irritated 
him  more  than  he  cared  to  confess  even  to  him- 
self.    Mrs.   Rval  entertained  a  corresponding 


THE    GOVERNESS.  107 

animosity  towards  Mr.  Byfield ;  she  had  re- 
solved, come  what  would,  to  "sit  him  out;"  but 
she  was  afraid,  if  she  remained  much  longer, 
that  Miss  Stack,  the  daily  governess,  whose 
mother  was  ill,  might  go  a  few  minutes  before 
her  time  was  up,  and  she  had  more  than  once 
caught  her  shaking  the  hour-glass — so  much  for 
the  honesty  of  one  party  and  the  consideration 
of  the  other;  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  as 
soon  as  she  was  gone,  she  would  be  abused  "by 
the  old  monster ;"  for  she  was  aware  that,  if  he 
had  gone,  it  would  have  given  her  extreme  plea- 
sure and  satisfacton  to  abuse  him.  The  old 
gentleman  had  not  spoken  for  several  minutes, 
but  continued  to  walk  up  and  down,  pausing 
every  now  and  then  to  look  at  her  over  his 
spectacles,  as  well  as  to  inquire,  "  when  do  you 
mean  to  take  your  departure  1"  Mrs.  Ryal  was 
too  exalted  to  notice  this;  but,  after  consider- 
ation, she  rose  wilh  much  dignity,  shook  hands 
with  her  two  "  dear  friends,"  dropped  a  most  ex- 
aggerated curtsy  to  Mr.  Byfield,  who,  the  mo- 
ment she  was  out  of  the  room,  threw  himself 
into  an  easy  chair,  and  drew  a  lengthened  inspi- 
ration, which  said  plainly  enough,  "  Thank  hea- 
ven, she  is  gone  !" 


IQ^  THE    GOVERNESS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

'*  And  now,  ladies,"  he  exclaimed,  "  finding 
that  you  want  a  governess,  I  want  to  recommend 
one — not  to  you,  Mrs.  Gresham;  notwithstand- 
ing '  little  Teddy,'  she  would  be  too  happy  with 
you.  I  should  wish  her  to  live  with  you^  Mrs. 
llylier." 

"With  me,  sir?  Why,  after  the  censure  you 
have  passed  upon  us  both,  I  should  hardly  think 
you  would  recommend  us  a  dog,  much  less  a 
governess." 

"  I  expect  you  will  treat  your  governess  hardly 
as  well  as  I  treat  my  dog,"  was  the  ungracious 
reply. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Byfield  " 

"  Psha,  lady !"  interrupted  the  strange  old 
man;  "  no  words  about  it;  I  have  not  been  so 
long  your  opposite  neighbour  without  knowing 
that  your  last  governess  did  not  sit  at  your  table  ; 
that  when  you  had  the  hot,  she  had  the  cold; 
that  when  a  visiter  came,  she  went;  that  she 
was  treated  as  a  creature  belonging  to  an  inter- 
madiate  state  of  society,  which  has  never  been 
de lined  or  illustrated — being  too  high  for  the 
kitchen,  too  low  for  the  parlour;  that  she  was 
to  govern  her  temper  towards  those  who  never 
governed  their  tempers  towards  her  ;  that  she 
was  to  cultivate  intellect,  yet  sit  silent  as  a  fool ; 
that  she  was  to  instruct  in  all  accomplishments, 


THE    GOVERNESS.  109 

which  she  must  know  and  feel,  yet  never  play 
any  thing  in  society  except  quadrilles,  because 
she  played  so  well  that  she  might  eclipse  the 
young  ladies  who,  not  being  governesses,  play 
for  husbands,  while  she  only  plays  for  bread! 
My  good  madam,  I  know  almost  every  gover- 
ness who  enters  Kensington  by  sight ;  the  daily 
ones  by  their  early  hours,  cotton  umbrellas,  and 
the  cowed,  dejected  air  with  which  they  raise 
the  knocker,  uncertain  how  to  let  it  fall.  Do  I 
not  know  the  musical  ones  by  the  worn  out  boa 
doubled  round  their  tlu-oats,  and  the  roll  of  new 
music  clasped  in  the  thinly  gloved  hand? — and 
the  drawing  ones — God  help  them — by  the  small 
portfolio,  pallid  cheeks,  and  haggard  eyes'?  I 
could  tell  you  tales  of  those  hard-labouring  class- 
es that  would  make  factory  labour  seem  a  toy ; 
but  you  would  not  understand  me,  though  you 
can  understand  that  you  want  a  governess,  and 
you  can  also  understand  that  I,  Joseph  Byfield, 
hope  you  will  take  one  of  my  recommending." 

The  sisters  looked  at  each  other,  as  well  as  to 
say,  "  What  shall  we  doV 

Mrs.  Hylier  assumed  a  cheerful,  careless  air, 
and  replied — "  Well,  sir,  who  is  your  governess?" 

"  Who  she  exactly  is,  Mrs.  Hylier,  I  will  not 
tell  you ;  and  she  does  not  know,  though  she 
imagines  she  does,  what  she  is.  I  will  tell  you. 
She  is  handsome,  without  the  consciousness  of 
beauty — accomplished,  without  affectation — gen- 
tle, without  being  inanimate — and  I  should  sup- 
pose patient ;  for  she  has  been  a  teacher  in  a 


no  THE    GOVERNESS. 

school,  as  well  as  in  what  is  called  a  private  fam- 
ily ;  but  I  want  to  see  her  patience  tested." 

"  Is  she  a  good  musician?" 

"  Better  than  most  women." 

"  And  a  good  artist  1" 

"  That  was  not  in  the  bond  ;  but  she  does 
confound  perspective,  and  distort  the  human 
body  as  perfectly  as  most  teachers  of  '  the  art 
that  can  immortahse  '  " 

"  My  dear  sir" ~ 

"  Ay,  ay  ;  half  a  dozen  chalk  heads — a  ?ew 
tawdry  landscapes,  witli  the  lights  scratched  out, 
and  the  shadows  rubbed  in — a  bunch  of  flowers 
on  velvet,  and  a  bundle  of  handscreens  "- 

"  My  dear  sir,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Hylier, 
"these  sort  of  things  would  not  suit  my  daugh- 
ters ;   what  they  do  must  be  artistic.'^ 

"  Then  get  an  artist  to  teach  them  ;  you  go 
upon  the  principle  of  expecting  Hertz  to  paint 
like  Easthike,  and  Eastlake  to  play  like  Hertz. 
Madam,  she  is  a  well-informed,  prudent,  intelli- 
gent gendewonian  ;  feeling  and  understanding 
well  ;  consequently  doing  nothing  ill,  because 
she  will  not  attempt  what  she  cannot  accomplish. 
She  will  not  undertake  to  finish  (that's  the  term, 
I  think)  pupils  in  either  music  or  drawing,  but 
she  will  do  her  best ;  and  as  she  has  resided 
abroad,  I  am  told  (for  I  hate  every  language  ex- 
cept my  own)  she  is  a  good  linguist ;  and  I  will 
answer  for  her  accepting  the  five-and-twenty 
pounds  a-year." 

'*Very  desirable,  no  doubt,"  muttered  Mrs. 


THE    GOVERNESS,  111 

Hylier,  unwilling  for  sundry  reasons  of  great  im- 
port connected  with  her  husband,  to  displease 
Mr.  Byfield,  and  yet  most  unwilling  to  receive  in- 
to her  family  a  person  whom,  judging  of  others 
by  herself,  she  imagined  must  be  a  spy  upon  her 
jnenage. 

"  I  knew  you  would  so  consider  any  one  1  re- 
commended," said  the  old  gentleman  with  a 
smile,  that  evinced  the  consciousness  of  power  ; 
"  and  when  shall  the  ^ young  person''  (that  is  the 
phrase,  is  it  not "?)  when  shall  she  come  V 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  her  first,"  an- 
swered the  lady,  hesitating. 

"  Very  good  ;  but  to  what  purpose  1  you  know 
you  will  take  her  T' 

'*  Any  thing  to  oblige  you,  my  dear  sir ;  but 
has  she  no  female  friend  V 

"  Some  one  of  you  ladies  said  a  few  moments 
ago  that  a  governess  had  no  need  of  friends." 

"  You  are  aware,  Mr.  Byfield,  it  is  usual  upon 
such  occasions  to  consult  the  lady  the  governess 
resided  with  last ;  it  is  usual ;  I  do  not  want  to 
insist  upon  it,  because  I  am  sure  you  understand 
exactly  what  I  require." 

"  Indeed,  madam,  I  do  not  pretend  to  such 
extensive  information ;  I  know,  I  think,  what 
you  ought  to  require,  that  is  all.  However,  if 
you  wish,  you  shall  have  references  besides  mine," 
and  Mr.  Byfield  looked  harder  and  stifFer  than 
ever.  He  walked  up  to  a  small  water-colour 
drawing  that  hung  above  a  little  table,  and  con- 
templated it,  twirling  his  cane  about  in  a  half 


112 


THE    GOVERNESS. 


circle  all  the  time.  The  subject  was  ugly 
enough  to  look  at — a  long  chimney  emitting  a 
column  of  dense  smoke  like  a  steamer,  and  a 
slated  building  stuck  on  one  side,  being  a  view 
of  the  "  Achilles  saw  mills,"  which  Mr.  Hylier 
had  lately  purchased,  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  purchase  money  having  been  advanced  by 
?,L-.  Byfield. 

"  No  matter  how  odd,  how  rude,  how  inconi- 
prelieiisible  our  old  neighbour  is,  Caroline,"  Mr. 
Irylisr  had  said  to  his  wife  only  that  morning; 
"  no  matter  what  he  does,  or  says,  or  fancies  ; 
if  you  contradict  or  annoy  him,  it  will  be  my 
ruin." 

Her  husband's  words  were  forcibly  recalled  to 
Iier  by  the  attitude  and  look  of  the  old  gentleman^ 
and  she  answered — "  Oh,  dear,  no,  sir,  not  at 
all ;  one  cannot  help  anxiety  on  such  a  subject ; 
and  I  must  only  endeavour  to  make  the  lady 
comfortable,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  although 
I  fear  she  may  complain  to  you  of" 

"  No,  no,  madam,"  he  interrupted  ;  "  I  do 
not  desire  her  to  be  treated  in  any  way  better 
tiian  your  former  governess ;  I  wish  to  see  how 
she  bears  the  rubs  of  life  ;  I  particularly  request 
that  no  change  whatever  be  made  in  her  favour ; 
if  I  wished  her  to  be  quiet  and  comfortable,  I 
should  have  sent  her  to  my  gentle  little  friend, 
Mrs.  Gresham." 

Mrs.  Hyher  bit  her  lip.  "  Good  morning,  la- 
dies ;  when  shall  Miss  Dawson — her  name  is 
Emily  Dawson — when  shall  she  come  ?  " 


fHE    GOVERNESS.  113 

"When  you  please,  sir." 

**  To-morrow,  then,  at  twelve." 

He  shut  the  door;  Mrs.  Gresham  rang  the 
bell ;  and  Mrs.  Hylier,  in  a  weak  fit  of  uncontroll- 
able vexation,  burst  into  tears. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  such  a  savage! "  exclaim- 
ed Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  no  reason  to  complain — = 
if  it  was  not  for  the  hold  he  has  over  Hylier" 

"1  wonder  if  she  is  any  relation  of  his?  "  said 
Mrs.  Gresham,  who  was  a  little  given  to  romance. 

"  Not  she,  indeed  ;  he  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer, 
and  has  money  enough  to  enable  him  to  live  in  a 
palace." 

"  Could  it  be  possible  that  he  intends  to  mar- 
ry," suggested  Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  Marry,  indeed;  would  any  man  that  could 
prevent  it,  permit  the  woman  he  intended  to  mar- 
ry to  be  a- governess?  No.  I'll  trouble  my  head 
no  more  about  it ;  let  her  come ;  one  is  pretty 
much  the  same  as  another;  the  only  thing  that 
really  gives  me  pain  is,  that  Mrs.  Ryal  should 
have  heard  so  much  about  it ;  she's  a  regular 
beli-woman ;  likes  to  have  the  earliest  information 
of  whatever  goes  on  in  the  world,  so  as  to  be  the 
first  to  set  it  going.  She  was  the  means  of  the 
dismissal  of  five  governesses  only  last  winter,  and 
there  is  no  end  to  the  matches  of  her  breaking. 
She  will  declare  the  girl  is — God  knows  what — 
if  she  finds  all  out." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Gresham,  musingly,  "  after 
all,  it  is  very  odd ;  only  fancy  Mr.  Byfield  taking 
8 


THE    GOVERNESS.  114 

an  interest  in  a  governess  at  all.  Still,  I  must  in- 
sert my  advertisement,  and  I  think  I  might  sub- 
stitute dancing  for  Greek ;  they  are  about  equal- 
ly useful,  and  one  must  not  be  too  unreasonable." 
"  Very  considerate  and  good  of  you,  Fanny," 
said  her  sister  ;  "  but  believe  me,  the  more  you  re- 
quire the  more  you  will  get ;  and  I  am  not  sure 
that  Mrs.  Ryal  was  wrong  about  the  sciences  ; 
every  day  something  fresh  starts  up  that  no  one 
ever  heard  of  before,  and  one  must  be  able  to  talk 
about  it ;  it  is  really  very  fatiguing  to  keep  up 
with  all  the  new  things,  and  somehow  I  do  not 
think  the  credit  one  gets  by  the  knowledge  is  half 
enough  to  repay  one  for  the  labour." 

"  Mr.  Gresham  says  the  whole  system,  or,  as 
he  calls  it,  no  system,  of  female  education  is 
wrono;." 

"  My  dear  Fanny,  how  absurd   you  are  ! — 
What  can  men  possibly  know  of  femp.!e  educa- 
tion'?    There  is  my  husband,   a  worthy  man  a"? 
ever  lived,  and  yet  he  will  tell  you  that  the  whole 
object  of  female  education  should  be  to  make  wo- 
men— now  only  imagine  whatl" 
"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know." 
"  Why,  good  vnves  and  mothers." 
"  Both  ladies  laughed,  and  then  Mrs.   Hylier 
exclaimed,  "  to  think  of  my  taking  any  one  ino 
my  house  under  such  circumstances !     But  at 
all  events,  I  must  prepare  the  children  for  their 
new  governess ! " 


THE    GOVERNESS.  115 


CHAPTER  III. 

Emily  Dawson  had  been  nearly  four  months 
in  lier  situation ;  during  that  time  Mr.  Byfield 
came  and  went,  at  Mr.  Hyher's,  as  usual ;  if  he 
met  his  protegee  on  the  stairs,  he  turned  his 
head  another  way;  he  never  asked  a  question 
about  her,  nor  seemed  to  take  the  least  interest 
in  her  proceedings ;  once  or  twice  Mrs.  Hylier 
(who  prided  herself  on  her  diplomacy)  said  some- 
thing leading  to  the  subject,  but  Mr.  Byfield 
silenced  her  in  a  way  peculiarly  his  own. 

"  Why  does  Mr.  Byfield  turn  away  from  you. 
Miss  Dawson r'  inquired  httle  Elizabeth  Hylier. 
(Children  are  acute  observers.)  "He  used  to 
stop  us  on  the  stairs,  and  call  us  juvenile  jades ; 
now  he  looks  so — and  goes  on.  Have  you  been 
a  naughty  girl,  dear  Miss  Dawson?" 

*' I  hope  not,  Elizabeth,"  said  the  governess. 

"  I  am  sure  not,"  added  Caroline,  the  elder 
of  the  two ;  "  I  don't  think  you  were  ever 
naughty.     When    you    were    a    little    girl,    you 

were  always  too  steady — too  serious — and" 

The  young  lady  paused,  and  looked  earnestly  in 
her  governess's  face. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  go  on,"  said  Miss  Dawson, 
in  her  gentle  voice. 

"  I  would  rather  not  say  what  I  intended,  for 
fear  you  would  not  like  it,"  answered  the  girl ; 
"  and  yet  I  should  wish  to  say  it." 


llO  THE    GOVERNESS. 

"  Then  do,  Caroline." 

*'  I  meant  too  sad  to  be  naughty,  or  Hke  other 
girls." 

"  I  was  not  always  sad,  my  dear ;  though,  I 
perceive,  I  must  not  let  you  see  that  I  am  so, 
even  at  times.  If  you  say  your  lessons  as  well, 
and  are  as  attentive  as  you  have  been  this  morn- 
ing, I  shall  be  much  happier."  Caroline  Hylier 
flung  her  arms  round  Miss  Dawson's  neck,  and 
kissed  her,  declaring  that  since  such  was  the 
case,  she  would  certainly  do  her  best  to  im- 
prove ;  and  while  she  was  speaking,  Mrs.  Hylier 
entered  the  school-room — a  cloud  of  the  deepest 
displeasure  overshadowed  her  pretty  face. 

"  Oh,  mamma!"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  "Miss 
Dawson  says  that  if  we  are  good,  she  will  be  so 
much  happier." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  observed  the  jealous 
mother,  "  that  my  being  happier  was  of  more 
consequence  ;  is  it  not.  Miss  Dawson?" 

"  Certainly,  ma'am,"  she  replied. 

"  I  do  wish,  Miss  Dawson,  you  would  not  an- 
swer me  in  that  peculiarly  sad  voice ;  and  that 
everlasting  mourning  you  wear — it  makes  mo 
heart-broken  to  look  at  it." 

"  It  nearly  broke  mine,"  said  the  poor  girl, 
"  to  put  it  on." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  occasion  to  be  sharp  about 
it.  I  thought  when  you  received  your  first  quar- 
ter's salary,  you  would  have  changed  it.  Caro- 
line, take  your  hand  out  of  Miss  Dawson's  ;  I 
hate  to  see  that  sort  of  familiarity.     Since  you 


THE    GOVERNESS.  117 

have  both  been  so  good,  suppose  you  come  and 
drive  with  me  in  the  park." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  dear  mamma  !"  exclaimed 
both  the  children,  in  the  same  delighted  tone  of 
voice,  and  rejoiced  to  see  her  temper  changed. 

"  Thank  you,  that  will  be  a  treat ;  and, 
mamma,"  added  Carohne,  "  may  Miss  Dawson 
come  also  ?" 

"  Miss  Dawson  has  had  her  drive  this  week 
already,"  said  Mrs.  Hylier,  walking  out  of  the 
room  with  renewed  ill  temper. 

"  Let  Elizabeth  go,  and  I  will  stay  with  you," 
whispered  the  affectionate  though  spoiled  child 
to  Miss  Dawson. 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  replied — "  no,  indeed ;  it 
was  very  kind  of  your  mamma  to  ask  you,  and 
you  will  offend  her  if  you  do  not  go.  I  have  a 
letter  to  write,  and  that  will  employ  me  until  you 
return." 

"  Ah,  you  say  that  to  make  us  go  !"  said  Eliz- 
abeth. 

"  For  shame,  Lizzy !  you  know  we  never 
found  Miss  Dawson  out  in  the  very  least  little 
white  fib  in  the  world,"  observed  Caroline. 

"  But  that  would  not  be  a  fib,  would  it,  sister  1 
— because  mamma  often  says  those  kind  of 
things  to  papa,  to  get  him  to  do  what  she  wants." 

"  You  are  too  young,  my  dear  Lizzy,  to  be 
able  to  judge  of  any  one's  motives,"  said  Miss 
Dawson ;  "  and  in  this  instance  must  be  mis- 
taken. So  now,  dears,  go,  and  do  not  keep 
mamma  waiting." 


118  THE    GOVERNESS. 

Some  persons,  who  had  seen  Miss  Dawson  by 
chance  at  Mrs.  Hylier's,  although  she  was  "  only 
a  governess,"  had  been  heard  to  observe  that  she 
was  very  pretty.  Had  she  not  been  a  governess, 
she  could  not  have  been  looked  at  without  being 
admired — not  for  actual  beauty,  but  for  the  sweet 
gentleness  of  her  countenance,  the  purity  of  her 
complexion,  the  open,  truthful,  outlooking  of  her 
fine  eyes,  and  the  ease  and  grace  of  her  move- 
ments. The  deep  mourning,  which  had  excited 
Mrs.  Hylier's  displeasure,  made  her  an  object  of 
toucliing  interest  to  all  who  had  any  feeling ;  it 
harmonised  with  the  sad  expression  of  her  fsice  ; 
and  two  or  three  ladies,  in  open  defiance  of  Mrs. 
Hyher's  well-known  jealousy  of  disposition,  had 
said,  "  how  glad  they  would  be  if  Miss  Dawson 
would  visit  their  young  people " — invitations 
which  she  thankfully  declined.  When  she  was 
left  alone — that  luxury  which  her  class  so  seldom 
enjoy — she  opened  her  desk,  and,  after  glancing 
over  some  letters,  fixed  her  eyes  upon  a  minia- 
ture which  she  had  taken  from  a  secret  drawer. 
She  looked  at  it  long  and  steadily,  until  her  eyes 
overflowed,  and  tear  after  tear,  large  round 
drops,  coursed  each  other  down  her  anguished 
face.  She  then  wiped  the  salt  moisture  from  its 
surface,  looked  again  at  the  picture,  pressed  it 
convulsively  within  her  clasped  palms,  and  lay- 
ing her  head  upon  them,  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
was  breaking.  While  sobbing,  she  slid  from  her 
seat  upon  her  knees ;  her  emotion  gradually  sub- 
sided.    She  prayed,  rose,  kissed  the  cherished 


THE    GOVERNESS.  119 

picture,  and  murmuring,  as  she  closed  the  case, 
"  Mother — my  mother  !"  replaced  it  in  her  desk. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  after  this  agitation  she 
became  at  once  composed — it  had  done  her  good 
— the  petty  insults  which,  cherished  child  as  she 
had  been  for  so  many  years,  she  felt  it  hard  to 
endure,  had  passed  away  with  the  deluge  of  tears 
that  welled  up  from  her  young  heart.  She  won- 
dered how  they  could  have  grieved  her — how  she 
could  have  felt  them — when  the  superior  bitter- 
ness of  her  mother's  loss  came  again  upon  her. 
Small  sorrows  place  us  below  the  world — a  great 
sorrow  above  it ;  and  she  continued  a  letter, 
written  at  intervals,  with  a  quieter  and  firmer 
mind  than  she  had  felt  for  some  days.  The  let- 
ter was  to  a  young  lady,  the  sister  of  the  curate 
who  had  attended  her  mother's  deathbed ;  a  por- 
tion of  it  ran  thus  : — "  You  ask  me  if  I  am  hap- 
py :  I  ought  to  be  happier  than  I  am.  My  two 
pupils  are  kind,  affectionate  girls ;  and,  though 
somewhat  idle,  and  very  ignorant,  if  I  am  per- 
mitted to  manage  them  as  I  desire,  I  have  no 
doubt  they  will  improve — ^not  rapidly,  but  cer- 
tainly. I  never  could  manage  a  child  until  I  ob- 
tained its  affections — and  the  affections  of  the 
young  are  generally  ductile  ;  but  Mrs.  Hylier  is 
weak  enough  to  be  jealous  of  the  little  love  the 
children  bear  me.  She  does  not  understand  that 
it  is  the  only  means  I  have  of  working  out  her, 
or  what  onght  to  be  her,  intention  ;  but  the  truth 
is,  that  all  she  really  desires  them  to  know  are  a 
few  showy  accomplishments.     She  came  home 


120  THE    GOVERNESS. 

in  an  ecstacy  of  delight  the  other  evening 
with  a  girl  who  repeated  some  long  Italian 
poem — of  which  she  could  not  even  remember 
the  name,  much  less  understand  the  meaning — 
in  a  room  crowded  with  company.  '  The  girl,' 
she  said,  '  had  so  much  self-possession,  and  her 
action  was  so  graceful.' 

"  With  the  same  breath  she  declaimed  against 
a  woman's  appearing  on  the  stage.  I  ventured  to 
observe,  that  the  child  who,  at  twelve  years  of 
age,  would  have  sufficient  confidence  to  repeat 
and  act  a  poem  in  a  crowded  drawing-room, 
would  be  very  hkely  to  desire  to  exhibit  before  a 
larger  audience  as  she  grew  older;  but  she 
could  not  perceive  the  analogy,  and  thought,  in- 
deed said^  I  was  impertinent  for  making  it.  Is 
it  not  a  cause  of  great  i*egret  that  I  have  never 
yet  found  a  mother  who  would  act  in  concert 
with  me?  I  submit  quietly  to  be  treated  with 
indifference  by  the  lady  and  gentleman,  who, 
when  I  am  in  the  room,  speak  and  act  exactly 
as  if  they  were  alone,  except  when  secrets  are  to 
be  talked,  when  they  begin  to  whisper,  and  then, 
of  course,  I  leave  the  apartment.  I  find,  when 
with  my  pupils,  a  deep,  and  happily  an  absorb- 
ing interest,  in  their  improvement ;  but,  when 
that  excitement  is  over,  I  droop  again ;  for  I  am 
considered  an  intruder  when  lessons  are  over, 
and  an  automaton  while  they  are  in  progress. 
Shall  I  ever  again  hear  the  voice  of  encourage- 
ment, which  makes  the  heart  bound  to  its  duties 
— shall  I  ever  be  prai&ed  any  more  ?  Oh,  do  not 


THE    GOVERNESS.  121 

think,  because  I  say  this,  that  I  yearn  after  flat- 
tery ;  I  do  not ;  but  if  the  parent  knew  how 
kind  considerate  words  increase  the  desire  to 
bring  the  children  forward — a  smile — a  gentle 
word — a  simple  '  you  have  done  well,'  would 
make  the  labour,  the  weary  labour,  of  thankless 
teaching  a  pleasure.  Mrs.  Hylier  seldom  finds 
fault ;  but  she  never  utters  a  sound  of  commen- 
dation. And  yet,  why  do  I  complain  ?  You 
know  that,  for  three  years  before  my  mother 
was  taken  from  me,  I  toiled  through  the  streets 
of  that  distant  town,  in  the  grey  mists  of  the 
winter's  mornings,  as  in  the  light  of  the  sum- 
mer's sun,  teaching  music  here  and  drawing 
there — all  the  accomphshments  in  one  place, 
and  'the  sciences'  in  another;  and  as  I  had  no 
protector — a  creature  to  be  insulted  by  those 
whose  manly  garb  was  certainly  no  index  to  a 
manly  mind — I  was  dismissed  from  one  house 
because  the  lady  thought  me  too  pretty  to  come 
in  the  way  of  her  son ;  from  another,  because 
I  did  not  wear  caps,  and  looked  too  young  with- 
out them ;  from  another,  because  1  would  not 
lunch  with  the  lady's  maid ;  and  yet  I  bore  all 
this,  and  more,  as  you  know,  cheerfully,  because 
from  six  in  the  evening  until  eight  the  next 
morning,  I  had  the  sheltering  bosom  of  my 
mother.  The  abihties  she  had  fostered  were  the 
means  of  supporting  her  at  the  last.  In  those 
two  small  cottage  rooms  /  had  a  home;  there 
was  her  smile,  her  voice,  her  counsel,  and  her 
prayer.     I  was  some   one's  first   object.     She 


122  THE    GOVERNESS. 

loved  me ;  the  tenderness  of  her  whole  life  was 
poured  into  my  heart,  under  every  trial  which  a 
fatherless  girl  must  endure,  who  has  to  grope 
her  way  through  the  world's  darkness.  Oh,  my 
mother !  my  mother ! — but  tears  will  blot  the 
page  when  I  write  of  her !  When  I  think  of 
iier,  I  feel  suffocated  ;  and  I  have  no  right  to  re- 
pine ;  only  thus  much — even  a  little  loudness 
would  make  me  work  so  cheerfully.  With  the 
education,  and  tastes,  and  feelings  of  a  gentle- 
woman, it  is  hard  to  be  treated  as  if  I  had  neither 
education,  nor  taste,  nor  feehng.  The  lady's 
maid  is  a  confidant;  the  housekeeper  a  mistress; 
the  housemaid  has  half  the  day  to  herself;  the 

governess But  this  is  idle  ;   my  mother  would 

reprove  me  for  it;  she  would  tell  me  to  do  my 
duty  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  call  me,  and  leave  the  rest  to  Him. 
You  know  how  she  was  deserted  by  her  father 
in  consequence  of  her  marriage  ;  and,  according 
to  her  desire,  her  death  was  mentioned  exactly 
as  she  wished.  She  thought  that  if  her  father 
saw  it,  he  would  seek  out  his  grandchild.  Per- 
haps he  is  dead ! — at  least  no  notice  has  been 
taken  of  me ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  chance 
which  threw  me  in  the  way  of  that  strange  old 
man,  Mr.  Byfield,  I  might  have  been  lefl  upon 
the  world  without  any  occupation.  He  is  cer- 
tainly a  very  odd  old  man ;  he  evinced  a  great 
degree  of  interest  in  me  at  first,  but  since  he 
placed  me  here,  has  never  spoken  to  me  but 
once.     I  had  been  walking  the  other  morning 


THE    GOVERNESS.  123 

ill  the  park  for  more  than  two  hours  with  the 
children,  and  being  tired,  sat  down  upon  one  of 
the  benches,  while  my  children  walked  up  and 
down  with  their  cousin,  as  their  mother  wishes, 
and  under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Gresham's  French 
governess ;  he  came  so  suddenly,  that  he  quite 
took  me  by  surprise.  '  Are  you  growing  lazyV 
he  inquired.  I  answered,  No  ;  but  that  I  was 
not  very  well.  'And  have  you  not  found  out,' 
he  continued,  '  that  a  governess  has  no  right  to 
be  ^in'  I  answered,  'I  knew  that;  and  so  was 
ill  but  seldom.'  '  Do  you  jest  with  me  V  he  said, 
sternly.  '  No,  sir,'  I  replied ;  *  I  speak  the  truth. 
If  I  were  independent,  I  would  yield  most  likely 
to  a  pain  bi  my  side,  or,  when  my  cough  keeps 
me  awake  all  night,  send  for  a  doctor.  The 
world  believes  in  the  sickness  that  is  heard  of, 
rather  than  the  sickness  that  must  be  examined 
into.  No  one  sees  my  illness,  so  I  am  ill  but 
seldom.'  And  then  he  looked  so  penetratingly 
into  my  face,  and  asked  me  how  I  had  learned 
to  reason?  and  I  had  it  on  my  lip  to  answer, 
that  I  learned  to  reason  by  endeavouring  to 
cease  to  feel,  but  thought  the  reply  would  seem 
pert  from  youth  to  age,  so  smiled,  and  held  my 
peace  ;  and  when  1  smiled,  he  sighed  so  bitterly, 
and  walked  away,  and  then  looked  back,  and 
returned  and  sat  down  by  my  side ;  then  ga- 
zing in  my  face,  he  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  told 
a  lie.  And  I  said  truly,  in  the  sight  of  God, 
I  beheved  I  never  had  since  I  knew  wrong  from 
right.     And  then  he  answered,  that   I   looked 


124  THE    GOVERNESS. 

like  truth,  as  all  women  did  when  they  lied 
most.  It  was  unwise,  I  know ;  but  I  had  done 
nothing  to  deserve  such  an  insult,  and  I  told 
him  so,  without  further  parley,  but  as  gently  as 
I  could,  thanking  him  for  the  kindness  he  had 
shown  to  one  who  had  no  friend  but  God.  Will 
you  believe  that  he  seemed  no  more  moved  by 
what  I  uttered  in  any  one  way,  than  if  I  had 
been  dumb;  only,  when  I  had  finished  speak- 
ing, I  could  not  repress  the  tears  that  would 
come — poor  cowardly  tears — I  hate  them  so — 
those  waters  of  a  troubled  heart ;  and  then,  shak- 
ing his  head,  he  said But  I  hear  the  voice  of 

Mrs.  Gresham's  French  governess,  so  must  say 
adieu  for  the  present.  If  constant  occupation 
did  not  increase  my  weakness,  I  daresay  my 
spirits  would  revive;  for  I  have  a  better  lot  than 
many.  There  is  a  poor  teacher  at  Mrs.  Stone- 
well's  school,  and  Ma'amselle  Mercier  tells  me 
she  has  but  fifteen  pounds  a-year,  and  remains 
at  school  all  the  vacations,  to  mend  up  the 
house  linen.     Adieu." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

*'Ah!  there  you  are!"  exclaimed  the  light 
breezy  voice  of  Mademoiselle  Mercier,  as  she 
ran   up   and    kissed    Emily   Dawson   on   both 


THE    GOVERNESS.  125 

cheeks.  "Ah!  mamie,  why  you  not  go  a 
valk  in  the  Parks'?  Ah !  you  English  ladies 
are  given  to  the  mopes ;  and  ven  you  have  five 
moments  to  yourselves,  instead  of  enjoy  all, 
you  make  sorrow  more  sorrowful  by  thinking 
over  him !  Tonjours  gai !  I  have  seen  my  maman 
this  morning — she  come  from  Paris  to  be  bonne 
in  Lady  Craig's  family,  after  educating  Lady 
Craig-.  She  has  brouaht  me  such  a  charmiiitj: 
parasol ;  she  loves  me  so  moche,  my  dear  moth- 
ers!  Ah!  my  dear,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  for- 
get ;  I  did  not  mean  to  call  your  tears,  chere 
Emily.  I  am  thoughtless  girl;  and  my  mothere 
make  me  full  of  joy.  Now,  do  not  cry;  bah! — 
there  !  1  tell  you,  if  you  dry  up  yom*  nice  blue 
English  eyes,  I  vill  go  and  fetch  my  new  para- 
sol, and  ve  vill  valk  toge there  in  Kensington 
Garden  for  half  hour.  Madame  Hylier,  she  say 
to  Madame  Gresham,  they  go  three  hours' 
drive,  and  they  are  not  gone  two  hours  yet.  Do 
come.  Madame  Gresham  likes  me  to  be  vilh 
you,  you  are  so  steady.  All  the  company  is  in 
the  garden  by  this  time — and  ve  see  such  nice 
ladie  and  gentleman,  almost  like  Longchamps." 
Miss  Dawson  begged  to  be  excused;  she 
would  rather  stay  at  home ;  she  had  much  to  do ; 
was  not  well ;  and  urged  a  thousand  reasons, 
but  without  effect.  "As  you  please,  my  dear," 
said  the  now  pouting  French  girl ;  "  but  it  is  un- 
kind of  you.  Madame  Gresham  vill  not  let  me 
go  vith  any  other  lady,  and  I  nevere  get  a  valk. 
Dat  cher  littel  boy  is  such  a  plague  ven  ve  go  out 


126  THE    GOVERNESS. 

— and  he  is  avay.  Now,  do  come ;  it  is  cruel  of 
you  for  fancy  to  prevent  me ! "  Emily  did  not  con- 
tinue to  refuse,  for  she  could  not  bear  to  be  un- 
kind ;  and  drawing  a  thick  crape  veil  over  her 
face,  she  prepared  to  accompany  the  volatile  but 
kind-hearted  Frenchwoman.  They  were  a  na- 
tional contrast  those  two  girls ; — the  staid,  quiet, 
graceful  deportment  of  Emily  Dawson,  and  the 
vivid,  tripping,  carefully  careless  demarche  of 
Colette  Mercier — the  deep  mourning  of  the  En- 
glish girl,  and  the  tuhp-like  appearance  of  the 
French,  in  whose  dress,  though  there  were  divers 
colours,  there  was  perfect  harmony.  "  You  look 
pale  and  tired  already,  mamie,"  she  said  to  Em- 
ily ;  "  and  we  must  not  sit  down  in  the  gardens,  I 
am  told.  But  it  would  be  most  pleasant,  those 
charming,  lovely  ladies,  and  handsome  gentlemen, 
if  they  only  vould  look  happy  ;  but  they  do  not — 
they  look  solemn,  and  valk  dead  marche  in  Saul ; 
and  yet,  though  I  am  but  poor  governess,  I  am 
happier  than  they.  There,  now,  is  an  English 
governess  vith  her  pupils — how  sad  she  look,  poor 
girl !  I  vill  tell  you,  Emily,  vat  my  motliere  tell 
me  ven  first  I  come  to  Englan'.  '  Ma  chere,' 
she  say  to  me  in  confidance,  '  do  your  duty  as 
moche  as  you  can,  vithout  killing  yourself. 
Some  families  vill  be  very  kind  and  goot  to  you  ; 
and  out  out  of  seven  that  I  taught  in  myself,  one 
is  good  to  me  now,  that  is  Lady  Craig ;  but  the 
rest  forget  the  care  and  teachings.  If  you 
meet  gratitude — which  all  who  teach  deserve 
from  all  who  learn — turn  up  your  eyes  and  bless 


THE    GOVERNESS.  127 

God,  but  do  not  expect  it.  I  know  what  young 
teachers  thmk  ven  pams  have  been  taken  vith 
them,  as  I  take  vith  you ;  they  go  to  a  situation 
full  of  the  importance  of  theii*  duties.  Bah  !  till 
motheres  treat  governesses  hke  gentlewomen,  and 
feel  that  the  very  best  part  of  what  an  honest 
teacher  gives  her  pupils — the  thoughts  of  her 
head  and  the  feelings  of  her  heart — cannot  be 
paid  for,  though  the  machinery  of  teaching  may, 
there  can  be  no  reciprocity  of  interest  between 
them.'" 

This  Colette  uttered  rapidly,  with  her  strong 
and  peculiar  accent,  for  her  French  had  a  Havour- 
ing  of  patois,  of  which  even  her  English  partook; 
and  she  laughed  hghtly  when  her  speech  was 
ended.  "  That,"  answered  Miss  Dawson,  "  is  an 
easy  theory,  but  a  bad  practice.  No  matter  how 
you  are  treated  your  duty  remains  the  same ;  it 
cannot  be  performed  with  the  same  pleasure,  but 
it  is  the  same  /" 

"  Veil,  my  dear,  so  let  it  be  ;  torment  the  flesJi 
off  your  bones — plague  yourself  to  death — fag, 
fag — and  see  !  At  the  last  you  vill  have  no  more 
thanks  for  i/ou?'  heavy  toil  than  I  shall  have  for 
my  light  labour.  Bah  !  half  the  people  do  not 
know  the  difference  between  a  good  and  bad  gov- 
erness. My  mothere,  she  say,  how  should  they, 
until  they  are  better  educated  themselves  1  Now, 
there,  you  act  what  you  call  conscientiously  ;  you 
are  thin,  like  a  poor  rush,  and  sigh  when  aloi  e. 
I  take  it  lightly ;  I  do  not  trouble  myself;   I  am 


128  THE    GOVERNESS. 

fat,  and  laugh  to  myself.    If  you  wear  yourself  to 
the  bone,  what  do  you  satisfy?  " 

"  My  own  conscience,"  replied  Emily. 

"  Ah,  veil,  if  you  go  on  satisfying  your  sort  of 
conscience,  you  vill  soon  have  a  bell  ring  over 
your  grave,"  replied  the  French  girl.  "  Ah !  " 
she  added,  looking  under  her  companion's  bon- 
net— for  they  had  been  walking  rather  rapidly, 
and  Emily  was  obliged  to  throw  up  her  veil  for 
air — "you  smile  at  that;  it  is  not  smiling  matter 
to  die,  and  be  put  in  the  cold  ground  ven  one  is 
young,  and  the  earth  one  great  garden."  Emily 
made  no  reply.  "After  all,"  resumed  Colette, 
"I  do  no  see  so  pretty  parasol  as  mine  vith  any 
lady." 

"  It  is  very  pretty,  certainly,"  replied  Miss 
Dawson  ;  "  but  I  think  it  quite  time  to  return 
iiome."  She  was  urged  to  this  remark  by  the 
stare  of  a  couple  of  gentlemen,  who,  certainly  not 
unobserved  by  Colette,  had  followed  them  for  the 
last  few  mhmtes,  and,  despite  their  rapid  foot- 
steps, managed  to  escort  them,  as  soldiers  do 
their  prisoners,  to  their  own  door — Emily  main 
taining  a  dignified  silence,  and  Colette  divided 
between  her  national  love  for  adventure  and  a 
certain  womanly  disdain  of  insulting  imperti- 
nence, which  together — one  feeling  acting  one 
moment  and  another  the  next — prompted  her  to 
give  vent  to  one  or  two  clever  sarcasms,  which 
provoked  and  amused  their  tormentors. 

Mrs.  Hylier  and  Mrs.  Gresham  were  at  the 


THE    GOVERNESS.  129 

breakfast-room  door  as  they  entered,  evidently 
watching  their  return. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  going  out,  Miss 
Dawson,"  said  Mrs.  Hyher,  sternly, 

"  As  the  young  ladies  were  with  you,  I  thought 
I  might  accompany  Ma'amselle,"  she  answered. 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  my  governess  walking 
wifh  gentlemen,"  continued  the  lady,  apparently 
tmcotiscious  that  Miss  Dawson  had  replied. 

"  Vat  gentlemans?"  exclaimed  Miss  Mercier, 
with  an  air  of  pretty  astonishment. 

"You  knoAv  best,  miss  ;  but  as  you  are  not  in 
my  employment,  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you;  I 
ran  only  desire  my  governess  not  to  do  it  agam," 
persisted  Mrs.  Hylier.  "  And  I  should  like  to 
know  who  the  gentlemen  were." 

"  And  so  should  I,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Miss 
Dawson,  "  most  earnestly,  though  it  would  be  to 
little  purpose— for  who  would  revenge  an  insult 
offered  to  me?" 

'*  Oh  you  should  tell  your  patron  saint  Mr. 
Byfield,"  returned  tlie  lady,  with  an  insulting 
laugh  and  a  sneer,  as  she  entered  the  breakfast- 
room  with  Mrs.  Gresham,  and  slapped  the  door 
in  the  face  of  the  two  girls. 

While  Colette  muttered  to  herself  in  French, 
Miss  Dawson  turned  slowly  round  to  go  up  stairs, 
and  saw  the  housemaid  draw  back  her  head  from 
over  the  bannisters,  while  the  footman  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  conceal  that  he  had  heard 
the  "blowing  up,"  as  he  elegantly  tenned  it, 
which  his  mistress  "gave  our  governess." 
9 


130  THE    GOVERNESS. 

Mrs.  Hylier  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Gresham,  exclaimed,  "  Well, 
and  what  do  you  mean  to  dol  " 

"  Why,  nothing,  sister ;  surely  the  poor  girls 
cannot  help  it  if  impertinent  men  will  follow  them 
home." 

'*  I  know  very  well  that  French  girl  you  Jmve 
is  good  for  nothing,  and  you  have  suffered  her  to 
encroach  too  much." 

"  I  really  cannot  tell,  sister,"  said  the  tranquil- 
Mrs.  Gresham  ;  "  I  had  an  excellent  character 
wiih  her,  and  though  Mrs.  Ryal  did  say  her  ac- 
cent is  bad,  I  don't  think  she  is  a  good  judge  ; 
and  one  may  go  on  changing  for  ever,  just  as  she 
does,  since  that  underbred  daily  governess  of  hers 
ran  off  with  her  own  father's  shopman.  She  has 
tried  half-a-dozen ;  but,  as  Mr.  Gresham  says, 
she  "ives  lier  servants  better  wag^es  than  her  teach- 
ers,  and  what  can  she  expect?" 

Again  the  ladies  were  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  Mrs.  Ryal,  just  as  they  had  been  when 
about  to  advertise. 

"  I  felt  it  my  duty,  Mrs.  Hylier,"  she  com- 
menced, after  the  usual  nothings  of  a  morning 
visit  had  been  exchanged — "  I  felt  it  a  positive 
duty  to  tell  you  that  all  the  people  of  Kensington 
are  talking  about  you." 

"  I  am  glad  they  are  so  well  employed,"  retort- 
ed Mrs.  Hylier  with  a  provoking  smile. 

"  Then  you  are  easily  satisfied,  my  dear  ;  but  ra- 
ther I  should  have  said,  they  are  talking  about  your 
gqyerness  and  your  amazing  gullibility.    Indeed, 


THE    GOVERNESS.  151 

they  are  hinting  that  Mr.  Hylier  must  have  somo 
particular  reason  for  suffering  such  an  inmate. 
Why — do — you — know — who — you — have—  got 
— in — your — housed"  These  last  words  wt re 
pronounced  with  peculiar  emphasis,  and  divider! 
exactly  as  they  are  printed,  the  lady  advancin-j^ 
lier  face  close  to  Mrs.  Hylier's,  and  opening  htr 
eyelids  so  as  to  make  her  round  eyes  seem  half 
;is  large  again  as  tluy  really  were. 

"  Ye — s,"  stammered  Mrs.  Hyher;  "ago — v- 
eraess." 

"  A — nonsense,  my  dear  ;  she  is  not  a  bit  bet- 
ter tlian  she  should  be." 

"  Few  of  us  are,"  said  the  meek  Mrs.  Gresh- 
am,  who,  somehow  or  other — perhaps  dn'ough 
tlie  influence  of  a  sensible  husband,  whom  she 
was  fortunate  enough  to  love  very  much— was  be- 
ginning to  think  occasionally,  and  to  compare, 
which  is  the  result  of  thought. 

Mrs.  Ryal  looked  daggers  at  her  for  a  moment, 
and  then  continued — "  That  old  Byfield  is  a 
wretch." 

"  I  always  thought  so,"  answered  Mrs.  Hylier, 
not  wilhng  to  be  outdone  in  suspicion ;  "  I  always 
thought  she  was  his  daughter." 

"  His  daughter  !  that  would  be  milk-white  in- 
nocence to  the  fact — she  is  much  worse." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  He  could  not  be  so  bad  as  that,"  observed 
Mrs.  Hylier. 

"  All  men  are  bad,"  pronounced  the  decided 


132  THE    GOVERNESS. 

Mrs.  Ryal ;   "  all  men  are  bad,  as  I  tell  my  hus- 
band ;  but  some  are  worse  than  others." 

"You  are  mistaken — misinformed,  I  should 
have  said,"  quoth  the  perplexed  Mrs.  Hyher; 
"  he  has  never  taken  the  smallest  notice  of  her 
since  she  has  been  here — never  asked  why  she 
was  not  in  the  drawing-room.  I  even  one  day, 
thinking  to  put  him  in  good  humour,  showed  him 
a  tulip  she  had  worked  in  that  everlasting  tapes- 
trv  of  mine." 
'"Well,  and  what  did  he  say?" 

"Why,  he  called  it— '  Rubbish.' " 

"  Sheer  art,"  said  Mrs.  Ryal. 

"  1  cannot  believe  he  would  put  a  person  of  bad 
character  over  my  cliildren,"  urged  Mrs.  Hylier. 

"  Stuff!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ryal. 

"  And  the  object  1 " 

"Ah!  that  rests  in  the  secret  recesses  of  the 
man's  own  wicked  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Ryal,  with 
due  emphasis;  and  then  added,  "  To  get  at  their 
motives  it  is  hard  for  us  poor  women ;  but  the 
only  way  to  get  even  at  their  acts,  is  by  putting 
that  and  that  together."  This  was  said  with  an 
air  of  peculiar  sagacity.  "  Now,  let  Mrs.  Gresh- 
ain  ask  her  popinjay  of  a  governess,  if,  the  other 
day  in  the  park.  Miss  Dawson  did  not  complain 
of  being  tired — now  only  fancy  a  governess,  whose 
duty  it  is,  her  positive  duty,  to  walk  as  long  with 
her  pupils  as  it  is  necessary  they  should  walk — 
only  fancy  her  being  tired ! — ah  !  ah  !  there  is  a 
ruse  in  the  very  excuse — if  she  did  not  sit  down 
on  a  seat,  and  if  Mr.  Byfield,  who  seems  so 


THE    GOVERNESS.  133 

Strange  and  unconcerned  about  her  here,  did  not 
come  up,  and  not  only  sit  down  by  her  side,  but 
take  lier  hand ;  and  then  she  sulked,  and  he  went 
away,  and  came  back  again,  and  kept  her  hand 
m  his,  and  there  they  sat  like  two  lovers,  in  Hyde 
Park.  It  is  really  scandalous  to  repeat,  and 
makes  my  cheeks  all  over  in  a  glow.  And  to-day, 
my  Mary  was  in  Kensington  Gardens — Mary, 
my  own  maid — and  she  saw  your  two  governess- 
es, ladies,  flirting  and  philandering  about ;  and 
then  who  should  she  also  observe,  watching  the 
English  girl's  every  movement,  but  old  Byheld. 
Well,  two  dandified  gentlemen  came  up,  attract- 
ed, Mary  says,  by  the  lightness  of  their  manner, 
and  followed  them  home  ;  but  not  unobserved  ; 
for  the  old  gentleman,  his  face  purple  with  jeal- 
ousy ' ' 

"  Or  the  March  wind,"  suggested  Mrs.  Gres- 
ham. 

"Kept  at  the  other  side  of  the  way,"  continu- 
ed Mrs.  Ryal,  with  a  look  of  contempt  at  Mrs. 
Gresham.  "  But  that  is  not  all.  This  morning 
I  sent  Mary  with  a  letter  to  the  post,  and  she 
overtook  Mr.  Byfield's  man,  who  was  talking  at 
the  corner  of  Salter's  to  one  of  the  butchers. 
'  Are  you  going  to  the  post-office  1 '  he  said. 
'  Then  will  you  put  my  master's  letter  in  for  mel ' 
And  so  she  took  the  letters — she  is  very  obliging 
— and  who  should  it  be  directed  to  but  Miss  Daw- 
son !  "  Mrs.  Hylier  rang  the  bell,  and  inquired 
of  the  servant  if  the  governess  had  received  a  let- 
ter.    The  man  said  the  three  o'clock  post  had 


134  THE    GOVERNESS. 

brought  her  one  while  she  was  out ;  that  he  be- 
hoved it  had  not  yet  been  taken  to  the  school- 
room ;  as  it  was  not  in  his  department,  could  not 
exactly  tell — would  inquire — went  down  and  re- 
turned with  the  letter :  it  had  been  left  on  the 
kitchen  dresser.  The  lady  found  no  fault  with 
the  servant's  unpardonable  inattention  ;  and  when 
he  had  left  the  room,  all  declared  that  it  certainly 
was  Mr.  Byfield's  handwriting. 

"Will  you  break  the  seal?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Ryal,  eyeing  the  letter  longingly. 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Hylier. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ryal,  with  a  sigh,  "Mary 
says  true  enough,  secrets  are  secrets  since  the 
packet  envelopes  came  in  ;  then  have  her  down, 
and  see  how  she  will  look  when  she  opens  it." 
Mrs.  Ilylier's  hand  was  on  the  bell,  when  Mrs 
Gresham  interposed. 

"  Sister,"  she  said,  "it  occurs  to  me  that  we 
may  all  be  in  error ;  and  if  so,  how  will  you  for- 
give yourself  for  wounding  the  feelings  of  the 
poor  girl  1  " 

"Feelings,  indeed!"  sneered  Mrs.  Ryal; 
"  why,  I  vow  she  has  bewitched  you  as  well  as 
the  men  ;  can  any  thing  be  more  evident  1 — at 
least,  if  she  is  innocent,  give  her  an  opportunity 
of  clearing  herself." 

The  bell  was  rung ;  and  the  governess,  still 
smarting  under  the  lash  of  the  previous  insult, 
was  sent  for. 

The  sei-vant  returned  with  an  apology — would 
Mrs.  Hylier  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  her  for  a  few 


THE    GOVERNESS.  135 

moments ;  the  servant  added,  that  Miss  Dawson 
was  crying. 

"  How  I  have  sustained  my  spirits  since  she 
came  into  the  house  is  extraordinary,"  obsei*ved 
Mrs.  HyUer,  smelhng  her  vinaigrette — she  is  al- 
ways sad." 

"  She  has  good  reason,  you  may  depend  on  it," 
said  Mrs.  Ryal  significantly. 

"  I  iliink  so  too,"  added  Mrs.  Gresham,  quietly. 

"  Really,  sister,"  said  Mrs.  Hylier,  "to  hear 
you  talk  of  late,  one  would  think  I  was  a  savage. 
I  am  sure  it  is  quite  enough  to  be  plagued  with 
great  growing-up  daughters,  without  those  gover- 
nesses ;  and  if  I  mention  school,  Mr.  Hyher  be- 
gins about  morals.  I  wish  you  had  had  Miss 
Dawson,  with  all  my  heart." 

"  My  French  girl  does  pretty  well ;  but  Mr. 
Gresham  says  she  acts  from  habit,  not  principle; 

and  that — but  hush  " Emily  Dawson  entered 

the  room,  while  the  traces  of  tears  were  yet 
fresh  upon  her  fair  young  face ;  the  earnest 
desire  she  had  ever  felt  to  perform  her  duty  in 
the  highest  and  most  important  vocation  which 
a  woman  can  be  called  upon  to  fulfil,  had  not 
only  given  an  elevation  to  her  countenance  and 
manner,  but  an  expression  to  her  features  which 
never  accompanies  a  small  or  sordid  mind ;  and 
whatever  Mrs.  Hylier  chose  to  say  when  she 
was  not  present,  the  superiority  of  mind  was  so 
manifest  in  the  manner  of  the  young  governess, 
that,  despite  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Ryal,  she  de- 
sired her  to  be  seated,  in  a  tone  which  signified 


136  TKft   GOVERNESS. 

a  request.  Then  came  the  question,  Had  she 
met  Mr  Byfield  in  the  Park — sat  and  conversed 
with  him.  To  this  she  frankly  answered  "Yes," 
and  seemed  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  occasion 
of  the  smile  and  sneer  that  passed  between  Mrs. 
Hylier  and  Mrs.  Ryal.  She  professed  herself 
quite  unable  to  account  either  for  the  counte- 
nance Mr.  Byfield  had  shown  her  at  first,  or  his 
subsequent  inequality  of  conduct.  "  He  had,'* 
she  said,  "  apparently  befriended  her  for  the  very 
reason  which  made  the  world  shun  her — be- 
cause she  was  friendless  and  poor."  Then  Mrs. 
Hylier  placed  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  with 
what  Mrs.  Ryal  afterwards  termed  "  unpardon- 
able eifrontery,"  she  opened  it,  and  as  she  read, 
her  countenance  became  radiant  with  pleasure. 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  the  two  ladies,  actuated 
by  the  same  impulse — "Well,  have  you  any 
objection  to  our  seeing  that  letter  1" 

"  I  cannot  show  it  to  Mrs.  Hyher,"  she  re- 
plied, with  perfect  frankness,  "  because  Mr.  By- 
field  desires  me  not  to  do  so." 

"  Was  ever  such  hardened  impudence!"  mut- 
tered Mrs.  Ryal. 

"  It  is  very  kind — very — I  am  sure,"  contin- 
ued Emily,  reper using  the  letter,  and  too  much 
absorbed  with  and  delighted  by  its  contents  to 
hear  the  remark  Mrs.  Ryal  made.  "  It  is  too — 
too  much!" 

"  What  is  1"  said  Mrs.  Gresham. 

»*  To  take  a  lodging  for  me  at  Hampstead, 
where  I  am  to  remain  for  several  months,  until 


TtlE    GOVEKNESS.  W*f 

I  get  stronger  and  better — and  all  at  his  own 
expense.  I  remember  when  I  would  have  been 
too  proud  to  accept  such  a  favour,  thinking  I 
could  earn  all  I  required ;   but  of  late  I  have 

been  so  weak — so" She  looked  from  the 

gentle  face  of  Mrs.  Gresham  to  the  other  ladies, 
and,  astonished  at  the  expression  of  displeasure 
and  scorn  on  their  countenances,  she  paused, 
and  did  not  utter  another  word. 

"  I  think,  then,  the  sooner  you  leave  my 
house  the  better,"  said  Mrs.  Hylier — "  the  soon- 
er the  better.     Oh,  what  will  Hr.  Hylier  say!" 

"  What  have  I  done  1"  exclaimed  Miss  Daw- 
son. 

"  Oh,  what  a  world  it  is — to  see  such  a  face 
as  that  masking  so  mtich  vice  !"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Ryal. 

"  Are  you  aware  what  will  be  said  if  you 
place  yourself  under  Mr.  Byfield's  protection  in 
this  way]"  inquired  Mrs.  Gresham,  still  kindly. 

"Let  her  go,  by  all  means — there,  you  may 
go — and  the  sooner  out  of  the  house  the  better ! 
Oh !  to  think  of  my  having  such  a  person  as 
that  to  take  care  of  my  imiocent  children !"  and 
Mrs.  Hylier,  overpowered  by  a  sudden  fit  of  ma- 
ternal love,  fell  into  strong  hysterics — tears  are 
too  weak  testimonies  of  grief  for  ladies  of  feel- 
ing. 

Emily  walked  up  stairs,  the  open  letter  in 
her  hand.  Miss  Mercier  was  still  in  the  school- 
room. 


138  THE    GOVERNESS. 

"  Ma'amselle,"  said  Miss  Dawson,  "  Mr.  By- 
field  has  written  to  me  that,  knowing  I  am  over- 
worked and  ill,  he  has  taken  for  me  a  country 
lodging  for  a  few  months.  You  know  who  he 
is,  and  all  about  him?" 

"  And  surely  you  are  not  going  to  accept 
that!"  replied  the  French  girl;  "  if  you  do,  you 
lose  character  at  once.  No  one  evere  do  such  a 
naughty  thing  as  that;  he  must  be  bad  man. 
Do,  pray,  send  it  back ;  young  men  sometimes 
make  love  for  love,  but  old  men  always  for  vick- 
(^dness ;  bah !" 

Of  all  the  difficult  things  in  the  world,  it  is 
the  most  difficult  for  people  of  the  world  to  com- 
prehend the  unselfishness  of  the  good. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  persisted  Ma'am- 
sf'lle;  "you  are  in  life  nearly  as  long  as  I  am, 
and  yet  you  don't  know  half  so  muche.  De- 
pend upon  it,  the  old  man  is  a  bad  man.  If  you 
go  into  the  lodging  he  take,  you  neve  re  come 
out  with  a  good  character.  Take  my  advice — 
1  know  more  thon  you." 

"  Good-bye,  Ma'amselle,"  said  Emily;  "  thank 
you  for  your  frankness.  God  bless  you ;  leave 
me  by  myself  to  think  a  little." 

When  Emily  was  alone,  she  read  the  letter 
over  again.  The  unaccountable  interest  Mr.  By- 
field  had  taken  in  her  as  a  stranger,  did  not 
seem  so  strange  as  the  carelessness  lie  had  evin- 
ced towards  her  for  so  long  a  time.  Emily 
Dawson's  own  pure  mind  could  hardly  conceive 
the  possibility  of  what  she  had  heard  from  Mrs. 


THE    GOVERNESS.  139 

Hylier  and  Mrs.  Ryal ;  but  she  had  often  been 
astonished  at  the  acuteness  of  the  French- 
woman's perceptions.  Could  such  baseness  be 
possible?  Her  whole  nature  seemed  changed 
in  a  moment ;  she  trembled  convulsively,  fearing 
she  knew  not  what ;  and,  from  suspecting  noth- 
ing, she  suspected  every  thing.  Why  should 
Mr.  Byfield  forbid  her  mentioning  the  subject 
of  his  letter  to  Mrs.  Hylier? — why?  But  her 
brain  whirled — she  could  not  think.  The  house- 
maid entered  the  room ;  she  was  a  kind  girl, 
and  in  tears. 

"  Please,  miss,  my  mistress  says  you're  to 
go  to-night,"  she  said. 

"Where?"  inquired  the  governess,  in  a  tone 
of  such  utter  helplessness  that  it  touched  the 
poor  tiling  to  the  heart. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  miss.  She  said  you 
could  be  at  no  loss  for  a  home ;  and  here's  the 
month's  salary  and  month's  warning  money." 

*'Not  to  Mr.  Byfield,"  she  thought;  "  I  must 
not  go  there ;  they  all  say  that ;  and  yet  this 
woman  turns  me  out  to  the  very  vice  she  would 
have  me  shun.  God  help  me — I  am  quite,  quite 
alone!" 

"Master  will  be  in  a  fine  way,  that  I  know, 
when  he  comes  home,"  continued  the  girl,  good- 
naturedly  busying  herself  packing  up  Miss  Daw- 
son's wardrobe.  "  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  ain't 
going  to  Mr.  Byfield's  ;  though  I'am  sure  there's 
no  harm,  yet  I  hope  you're  not,  miss.  If  you 
wouldn't  be   above   it,  my  mother   has  a  little 


140  THE    GOVERNESS. 

pretty  house  at  Chelsea,  and  you  might  be  there 
till  you  could  turn  yourself  about — safe,  as  one 
may  say ;  and  if  so  be  you  wish,  I'd  be  on  my 
honour  and  my  oath  not  to  tell — not  the  old  gen- 
tleman, or  any  one  else." 

"  Any  where,  Mary — any  where,"  said  the 
governess,  listlessly;  "any  where,  away  from 
ail  I  have  seen  in  this  house." 

Elizabetli,  the  youngest  of  her  pupils,  rush  -d 
into  the  room,  and  flinging  her  arms  round  her 
neck,  sobbed — 

"  You  shall  not  go,  dear  Miss  Dawson — you 
^hall  not  go.  Mamma  said  1  was  not  to  come 
near  you,  you  were  so  wicked;  but  I  said  1 
would." 

"  Your  mamma  mistakes,"  answered  the  gov- 
erness, not  even  in  the  anguish  of  that  hour 
forgetting  how  necessary  it  is  to  make  the  parent 
appear  right  always,  at  least  in  intention,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  child.  "  She  mistakes,  dearest  Eliza- 
beth ;  she  will  not  always  think  so ;  but  you 
nmst  not  chug  round  me.  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  child ;  you  did  wrong  to  come  when  mam- 
ma said  you  were  not  to  do  so.  God  bless  you — 
be  good,  be  truthful,  and  obedient;  God  bless 
you!"  and  with  a  gentle  force  she  obliged  the 
weeping  child  to  leave  the  room. 

A  short  time  completed  her  preparations,  or 
rather  the  preparations  which  Mary  made  for 
her.  It  is  pleasant  and  cheering,  and  one  of 
the  brightest  pages  in  the  great  book  of  human 
nature,   to   see   the    kindness   which   the   poor 


THE    GOVERNESS.  141 

bestow  upon  those  who  are  in  trouble.  The 
evidence  of  the  existence  of  this  benevolent  feel- 
ing is  far  more  frequent  than  people  imagine. 
It  does  not  descend  in  showers  of  coin,  but  in 
words  of  kindness ;  and  is  as  pure  as  the  dew 
which  an  all-wise  nature  distils  into  the  cups  of 
drooping  flowers. 

"  Let  me  tie  your  bonnet,  miss,  and  pin  your 
shawl.  Lawk,  how  numh  your  hands  are  !  Then, 
you'll  go  to  my  mother's,  I  think  you  said,  miss, 
and  no  one  shall  know  ;  she'll  treat  you  as  it  be- 
comes her  like  to  treat  a  lady,  rich  or  poor.  Now, 
keep  a  good  heart  Miss  Dawson  ;  God  is  above 
us  all.  I'll  open  the  door  myself,"  she  continu- 
ed ;  "and  the  trunk  is  in;  and  keep  up,  miss — 
lies  are  found  out  sooner  or  later.  Why,"  she 
exclaimed,  seeing  that  Emily  paused  opposite  the 
drawing-room,  "  surely  you  are  not  going  to  be 
more  insidted?  You  might  as  well  talk  to  a 
stone  wall  as  to  my  missus." 

Emily  nevertheless  entered  the  apartment, 
where  Mrs.  Hylier  was  alone,  pondering  over,  in 
no  pleasant  mood,  the  occurrences  of  the  past 
hours — thinking  how  she  had  acted  in  decided 
opposition  to  her  husband's  desire,  who  willed  it 
that  Mr.  Byfield  was  never  to  be  contradicted, 
at  least  in  his  house ;  and  though  she  was  half- 
convinced  of  Emily's  unworthiness,  she  knew 
how  hard  it  would  be  to  convince  him. 
The  pale  shrouded  girl  walked  silently  up  to 
where  Mi*s.  Hylier  was  seated.  "  I  come,"  slie 
said,   "  to  bid  you   remember  what  I  say — that 


142  THE    GOVERNESS. 

you  will  (heartless  as  you  are)  shed  tears  before 
long  lor  the  injustice  and  insult  you  have  heaped 
upon  the  head  of  a  houseless,  homeless  orphan. 
You  have  done  me  cruel  wrong  by  your  suspi- 
cioii,  and  you  send  me  forth  to  make  the  suspi- 
cion real;  but  the  God  who  is  above  all  v/i'I 
SLive  me  yet!  " 

She  spoke  these  t^ew  words  in  the  tone  of  -i 
breaking  heart,  and  witliout  further  words  she 
quitted  the  house.  During  the  short  time  of  hjr 
residence  there,  she  liad  conferred  more  lastisig 
service  upon  Mrs.  Ilylier's  children  than  they 
had  ever  received  beibre — she  had  sown  healthful 
and  truthful  seed.  Not  content  with  the  teaching 
by  lessons,  she  had  hallowed  every  tree,  and  leaf, 
and  blade  of  grass,  with  a  history.  She  placed  a 
few  brilliant  and  beautiful  shells  in  their  way,  and 
then,  without  dull  or  dry  detail,  she  interested 
them  in  the  desire  for  knowledge  as  to  where 
they  came  from  and  to  what  class  they  belonged. 
The  music  lesson  was  made  of  historic  value  by 
the  record,  if  the  task  had  been  attended  to,  of  its 
author,  and  an  anecdote  that  bore  upon  its  coin- 
position.  The  analyzation  of  a  flower  became  ;i 
botanical  lesson  without  its  pedantry  ;  and  every 
thing  she  had  touched  up<>n  in  science  and  art — 
two  words  which  her  pupils  had  imbibed  a  hatred 
for,  from  lengthy  catechisms  and  dry  details — 
were  illuminated  at  once  by  her  simple  and  happy 
method  of  conveying  instruction.  A  new  exist- 
ence dawned  upon  their  minds :  they  understood 


THE    GOVERNESS.  143 

why  their  hoop  rolled,  and  why  it  came  to  the 
ground  ;  they  understood  why  morning  followed 
night,  and  why  the  heat  was  at  noon  the  most 
intense.  They  had  learned  more  orally  than 
they  ever  learned  from  books.  Poor  Emily  knew 
this;  and  as  her  arm  encircled  her  trunk,  and 
her  hot  fevered  breath  hung  upon  the  closed 
windows  of  the  rattlincr  cab,  which  was  takiiijr 
her  she  knew  not  where,  the  words  of  the  French 
teacher  rang  in  her  ears — "  Torment  the  flesh  otl' 
your  bones — plague  yourself  to  death — fag,  faj;- 
— and  see  !  At  the  last  you  will  have  no  more 
thanks  for  your  heavy  toil  than  ]  shall  have  for 
my  light  labour."  "  Still,"  she  murmured,  "  I 
have  done  my  duty." 

"  Please  ma'am,"  said  the  man  to  an  elderly 
woman  who  opened  the  door  of  a  small  house, 
"  here's  a  lady,  like,  your  daughter  in  Kensmg- 
ton  has  sent  you,  as  a  lodger  ;  and  you  are  to  be 
particular  kind  to  her,  and  she'll  try  and  run  down 
to-morrow  nioht,  between  lights.  The  fare  is 
paid,  miss — the  young  woman  paid  it.  She  said 
she  knew  you  hadn't  changed  your  cheque." 

Mary's  mother  did  not  look  as  good-natured  as 
Mary  herself.  But  Emily  was  so  bowed  down 
by  circumstances  as  hardly  to  observe  the  differ- 
ence. 

"  Well,"  observed  the  woman  to  her  youngest 
daughter — "  well,  I  never  saw  any  one  so  care- 
less about  accommodation.  Why,  she  said,  the 
back  would  do  as  well  as  the  fi-ont  room,  though 


144  THE    GOVERNESS. 

I  told  her  she  might  have  either  at  the  same 
rent;  and  if  I  had  not  undressed  her,  she'd  have 
either  sat  up  all  night,  or  lain  down  in  her 
clothes.     She's  more  like  a  dead  than  a  living 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  next  morning  the  pat,  pat,  pat,  of  Mr. 
Byiield's  cane  was  heard  ascending  the  steps 
leading  to  Mr.  Hylier's  hall  door;  his  knock 
had  the  determined  sound  of  "  I  will  come  in." 
"  Remember,  James,"  said  his  mistress,  "  pop- 
ping" her  head  out  of  the  breakfast-room,  "  i 
am  not  at  home — I  shall  not  be  home  all  day — 
I  am  out  for  a  week — went  down  to  meet  your 
master  last  night."  James  bowed,  and  the  lady 
disappeared. 

"  My  mistress  is  not  at  home,  sir,"  observed 
the  sapient  footman.  Mr.  Byfield  poked  him 
aside  with  his  cane,  and  having  entered  the  hall, 
said,  "I  want  to  speak  to  Miss  Dawson." 

"  Miss  Dawson,  sir,  left  the  house  last  night." 

"Left  last  night!  Then  where  is  she  gone 
to?" 

"  I  really  can't  say,  sir ;  she's  left  for  good, 
trunk  and  all." 


fflft   66VERNESS.  145 

"Lcft^— gone;  but  surely  you  must  know- 
where  she  drove  tol" 

"  The  housemaid  saw  her  off,  sh\"  Mr.  By- 
field  commanded  Mary  to  appear;  but  she 
having  always  hved  "in  the  best  families,"  hed 
with  superior  firmness.  *'  The  very  words  Miss 
Dawson  said,  sir,  were,  '  Tell  the  cab  to  drive  to 
Oxford  Street,  and  then  I  will  direct  him  the 
number;'  these  were  her  last  words,  sir,  and 
I  can  tell  no  more."  Mary  was  in  haste — not 
agitated  by  the  untruth — so  she  stayed  no  farther 
question,  but  dived  down  the  kitchen  stairs. 

"Now,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  must  see 
your  mistress." 

"  Not  at  home  sir,"  repeated  James. 

"  When  Avill  she  be  at  home?" 

"  Not  for  a  week.  She's  gone  down  to  where 
master's  stopping." 

"  That's  the  third  falsehood  you  have  told 
since  I  entered  this  house,  young  man,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Byfield.  "  Your  mistress  cannot 
have  gone  down  to  where  your  master  is,  be- 
cause business  obliged  your  master  to  come  to 
my  house  this  morning,  even  before  he  visited 
his  own  ;"  and  Mr.  Byfield  turned  and  entered 
the  breakfast-room  so  suddenly  as  almost  to 
knock  down  the  fair  mistress  of  the  mansion, 
who  certainly  was  as  close  to  the  door  as  if  she 
had  been  about  to  open  it  for  her  unwelcome 
intruder. 

"  Good  morning,  madam  !"  he  said,  with  the 
exceeding  courtesy  of  an  angfy  man,  before  the 
10 


146  THE   OOYERNESS. 

Storm  that  has  gatliered,  breaks.  "  Good  morn- 
ing. Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  tell  me 
where  Miss  Dawson  is  gone,  and  why  she  is 
gone?" 

Mrs.  Hylier  suffered  Mr.  Bjfield  to  repeat 
his  question  before  she  answered ;  she  was  de- 
bating within  herself  whetlier  she  should  assume 
the  tone  of  indignant  and  outraged  propriety,  or 
tli.it  of  a  gentle  upbraiding ;  her  temper  triumph- 
ed, and  she  lost  sight  of  her  husband's  interests 
and  her  husband's  wishes.  In  loud  and  unqual- 
ified terms  she  upbraided  Mr.  By  field  with  what 
she  termed  his  sinful  duphcity,  in  forcing  a  per- 
son, whom  she  called  by  no  gentle  nama,  into 
her  house;  exhausted  a  dictionary  of  epithets 
upon  Miss  Dawson — talked  wildly  and  at  ran- 
dom of  depravity — and  wound  all  up  by  a  move- 
ment something  between  an  hysteric  and  a  faint. 
Mr.  Byfield  sat — his  great  gray  eyes  dilating 
and  contracting,  like  those  of  a  cat  in  the  sun- 
shine, according  as  his  passions  were  moved  ; 
and  notwithstanding  his  age,  such  was  their 
fire,  that  they  would  have  scorched  the  noisy 
fragile  thing — who  had  sunk  into  her  luxurious 
chair,  a  trembling  heap  of  mull-muslin  and  En- 
glish blonde — if  she  had  had  the  moral  courage 
once  to  look  him  fairly  and  bravely  in  the  face. 
There  sat  Mr.  Byfield,  white  and  motionless — 
so  white,  that  the  flakes  of  his  snowy  hair  could 
hardly  be  distinguished  from  his  cheeks ;  his 
eyes  flashing,  as  I  have  said ;  his  long  bony 
fingers  grasping  either  knee,  and  grasping  it  so 


THE    GOVERNESS.  147 

tightly,  that  the  dark  veins  stood  out  hke  purple 
ridges  on  his  hands. 

"  Ring  the  bell !"  she  said,  at  last  perceiving 
that  he  took  no  more  notice  of  her  sobs  than  lie 
had  done  of  her  words.  "Ring  the  bell!"  He 
neither  spoke  nor  moved ;  and  at  last  the  lady 
essayed  to  do  it  herself.  He  seized  her  arm — 
and  Lord  Lynd say's  mailed  glove  did  not  press 
more  deeply  into  the  soft  arm  of  Mary  of  Scot- 
land, than  the  old  man's  animated  bones  did 
into  the  wrists  of  Mrs.  Hylier.  She  screamed 
with  spleen  and  pain,  but  resumed  her  seat, 
and  there  he  continued  to  sit  opposite  to  her, 
without  trusting  himself  to  speak,  yet,  by  his 
presence,  eft'ectualiy  preventing  her  moving. 
Suddenly  Mr.  Hylier's  well-known  knock  re- 
sounded through  the  house.  There  was  a  rush 
of  light  young  feet — the  echoes  of  the  beatings 
of  anxious  hearts — and  exclamation  of  "Oh, 
papa !" — "  Dear  papa  !" — and  a  whisper  or  two, 
and  then  Mr.  Hylier  came  in,  just  in  time  to 
catch  his  wife,  in  another  faint,  upon  his  arm. 
Questions  followed;  and  the  two  young  ladies 
were  turned  out  of  the  room  ;  while  Mrs.  Hylier 
sobbed  and  moaned,  and  called  herself  an  ill- 
used  woman.  And  at  last  the  old  man,  gather- 
ing up  his  energies,  girded  himself  and  spoke. 
He  stated  fairly  and  plainly,  in  agitated  tones, 
that  he  had  placed  Miss  Dawson  with  Mrs. 
Hylier,  because  he  wished  to  observe  how  she 
would  bear  the  ill  and  careless  manner  in  which 
he  knew  she  would  be  tr'^at^d.     It  was  (he  said) 


148  THE    GOVEilNESS. 

of  paramount  importance  to  him  that  he  should 
observe  how  she  bore  up  against  the  disagree- 
able ness  of  her  situation ;  it  had  not  (he  con- 
tinued) escaped  him,  that,  as  long  as  the  impres- 
sion remained  upon  Mrs.  Hyher's  mind,  that  it 
would  phase  him  to  be  kind  to  his  proteg'e,  slie 
was  tolerably  considerate;  but  when  she  found 
that  he  neglected  her  altogether — the  circum- 
stance that  would  have  drawn  a  noble  mind  to 
be  more  gracious  to  one  so  utterly  deserted  by 
the  world — rendered  Mrs.  Hylier  careless  and 
unfeehng.  Mr.  Byiield  had  his  own  way  of 
doing  every  thing ;  and  there  is  little  doubt,  from 
his  own  statement^  that  he  would  have  gone  on, 
heaping  mystery  on  mystery,  had  he  not  been 
suddenly  aroused  to  a  sense  of  Miss  Dawson's 
uncomplaining  illness,  by  her  appearance  in  the 
park;  and,  after  much  mental  deliberation,  he 
determined — still  after  his  own  strange  fashion 
— to  provide  her  a  quiet  home,  and  be  himself 
the  bearer  of  his  reasons  to  Mrs.  Hylier. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "that  fertile  as  you  and 
your  friend  Mrs.  Ryal  are  in  attributing  impurity 
to  pure  motives,  you  would  hardly  hdve  dared 
t(j  pin  a  slander  upon  these  white  hairs,  or  sup- 
posed that  so  single-minded  and  self-sacrificing 
a  creature  as  Miss  Dawson  would  rush  into  vice 
— and  such  vice!  I  imagined,  indeed,  that  you 
would  have  considered  me  her  father;  but  to 
have  thought  and  acted  as  you  have  done — to 
have  turned  her  pennyless" 

*'I  did  not!"  screamed  Mrs.  Hylier;   "  I  gave 


THE    GOVERNESS.  149 

her  a  month's  salary — I — I " and  then  she 

appealed  to  Mr.  Hylier,  to  know  why  he  suffered 
her  to  be  msulted ;  and,  losing  all  command  of 
herself,  reiterated  her  opinion  of  Mr.  By  field's 
conduct. 

"  For  shame,"  said  her  husband.  "Mr.  By- 
field,  1  intreat  you  to  consider  how  Mrs.  Hylier 
has  been  acted  upon  by  the  misrepresentation  of 
Mrs.  Ryal.  She  does  not  think  her  own 
tlioug'hts,  or  speak  her  own  words." 

"  I  do  !"  repeated  the  foolish  woman.  "If  it 
is  not  as  I  say — what  connexion  is  he  of  Miss 
Dawson's  1" 

"  Her  Grandfather  !"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  And  had  I  not  beheved  that  I  could  place  no 
dependence  upon  a  character  that  had  not  been 
steeped  to  the  lips  in  the  bitter  waters  of  the 
world's  strife,  I  ouglit  to  be  ashamed  to  own  it. 
Why,  then,  should  I  feel  such  bitterness  towards 
you — poor  thing  of  a  whirling  world  !  You  ! — 
upon  whom  she  had  no  claim ;  but  that  is  false. 
Madam,  there  are  women  in  the  world  who 
acknowledge  the  claim  of  sisterhood,  even  when 
it  is  covered  by  the  rags  of  shame ;  who  seek  to 
save — whose  hands  are  filled  to  overflowing  by 
the  charity  which  God  pours  into  then'  hearts ; 
whose  means,  however  small,  like  the  widow's 
cruise,  increase  by  giving ;  whose  names  will 
ascend  and  form  part  of  the  glory  of  the  everlast- 
ing heavens,  when  ours  wi41  leave  no  record 
save  upon  the  cold  and  lying  tombstone  !     Oh, 


150  THE    GOVERNESS. 

my  God !  my  God !  why  do  you  not  soften  our 
hearts  before  it  is  too  late!" 

Mrs.  Hyher  would  have  essayed,  if  she  dared, 
to  say  that  she  did  not  believe  he  was  Emily's 
orandfather,  but  she  could  not;  and  Mr.  Hyher, 
wiiile  the  old  man  paced  the  room  violently,  and 
wrung  his  hands,  whispered  her  he  had  but  that 
morning  returned  from  the  neighbourhood  where 
her  mother  died,  and  where  her  extraordinary 
and  unceasing  efforts  for  the  support  of  that 
dear  mother,  particularly  during  the  last  years 
of  her  life,  were  talked  of  amongst  a  domestic 
and  parent-loving  people,  as  something  so  endur- 
ing, so  patient,  so  gentle,  so  holy,  as  to  be  quite 
wonderful.  "  And  this  is  the  creature,"  he  added, 
"  that  the  gossip  of  a  chattering  neighbourhood, 
eager  to  pick  up  the  crumbs  of  court  or  any 
news,  prompted  you  to  insult.  I  felt  honoured 
by  my  friend's  desire  that  I  should  investigate 
for  myself,  and  all  I  can  say  is,  that  if  I  had 
had  the  slightest  knowledge  of  her  high  qualities, 
she  should  never  have  been  treated  as  she  has 
been." 

"  A  lesson! — a  lesson  !"  said  the  old  man,  in 
a  voice  hoarse  with  an  emotion  he  used  every 
exertion  to  control — "A  lesson  to  us  all,  Hylier. 
But  now  to  find  my — yes,  my  child — the  child 
of  my  daughter,  to  tell  her  who  I  am."  He 
again  paced  the  room,  pressing  his  hands  to- 
gether, and  almost  convulsed. 

"  May  I  hope,  sir" stammered  Mrs.  Hy- 
lier. 


THE    GOVERNESS.  151 

"  Hope  nothing,  madam,"  he  interrupted,  "  as 
I  do,  but  that  time  may  be  given  you,  as  well  as 
me,  to  render  justice." 

And  now,  if  the  tale  were  to  end,  as  made-up 
stories  do,  with  a  record  that  the  old  man  found 
his  grandchild  much  better  than  he  had  antici- 
pated; that  they  lived  for  a  short  time  happily 
together,  and  then  the  governess  was  married  to 
a  great  lord,  to  the  discomfiture  of  all  gossips,  I 
should  substitute  fiction  for  fact — which  I  cannot 
do.  The  life  of  a  young  woman,  devoted  to  the 
instruction  of  youth,  may  be  likened  to  those 
streams  we  read  of — springing  up  we  know  not 
where — which  murmur  along,  fertilising  as  they 
flow ;  and  then,  after  trees,  and  flowers,  and 
sightly  plants,  have  sprung  up  through  their  un- 
honoured  influence — behold!  they  have  disap- 
peared into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  are  seen 
no  more !  In  society,  we  constantly  meet  young 
and  accomplished  ladies ;  their  acquirements  are 
universally  acknowledged  and  admired;  until 
they  "  came  out,"  they  were  attended  to  always 
in  their  hours  of  study,  of  illness,  of  amusement 
by  their  "  governess."  She  is  gone  now ;  no 
one  ever  inquires  after  her.  She  is  gone,  if 
young  enough,  to  another  situation,  again  to 
attend  upon  young  ladies  in  their  hours  of  study, 
amusement,  and  illness — again  to  be  dismissed 
— again  forgotten.  I  think  it  is  a  high  privilege 
to  be  intrusted  with  the  education  of  youth — 
one  of  the  very  highest  that  a  woman  can  enjoy ; 
but  if  she  perform  her  duty,  her  services  should 


l$%  THE    GOVERNESS. 

never  be  slighted  or  forgotten.  The  "teacher" 
should  rank,  after  her  own  immediate  family,  in 
the  pupil's  affections;  or,  if  that  cannot  be  (for 
we  can  all  respect  many  whom  we  do  not  love,) 
in  her  esteem ;  she  should  always  be  honoured, 
and  never  permitted  to  want;  her  importance 
to  society  is  as  vital  as  the  unseen  sap  to  the 
bloomint^  tree ;  her  situation  subordinate,  her 
influence  paramount — not  in  the  usual  course 
of  influences;  but  if  we  look  back  to  our  own 
young  days,  we  shall  remember  how  mucli  of 
what  we  learnt  from  some  patient  teacher  has 
directed  us  through  life.  My  astonishment  has 
often  been  excited,  not  by  the  little  which  gover- 
nesses know,  but  by  their  knowing  so  much. 
Nevertheless,  until  some  decided  step  is  taken 
by  the  legislature  to  regulate  not  only  schools, 
but  the  education  of  teachers,  there  must  always 
be  a  chance  of  their  incompetency  to  perform  at 
least  a  portion  of  all  that  is  required  of  them. 
Still,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  what  has  been 
done  for  ourselves  in  the  way  of  education,  has 
been  done  by  this  hardly-used  race.  And  cer- 
tainly Mr.  Byfield  ought  to  have  been  satisfied 
with  what  Emily  Dawson  had  already  accom- 
plished, without  turning  her  over  to  one  whom 
he  knew  would  try  her  to  the  uttermost.  His 
feelings  were  hardened,  and  he  was  rendered 
suspicious — by  the  past  circumstances  of  a  varied 
life — of  there  being  any  good  in  human  nature ; 
his  benevolence  was  often  frozen  over ;  but  whei?L 


THE    GOVERNESS.  153 

it  thawed,  the  verdure  of  a  generous  nature 
came  quickly  forth. 

Tlie  first  step  he  found  it  necessary  to  take 
was  to  find  out  where  Miss  Dawson  was;  but 
here  lie  was  baffled.  The  housemaid  had  receiv- 
ed warning  from  her  mistress  the  previous  night, 
ill  consequence,  she  said,  of  lier  attention  to  "the 
Sjoveriiesses  ;  "  and  a  few  moments  after  Mr.  By- 
field  had  spoken  to  her,  had  gone,  as  Mrs.  Hy- 
lier  liad  commanded  she  shoukl.  TJie  other  ser- 
vants pretended  to  be,  or  were  ignorant,  of  lier 
residence  ;  and  sucli  was  her  firmness  of  manner 
in  the  falsehood,  that  Mr.  Byfield  believed  she 
had  told  him  the  truth.  The  natural  impetuosi- 
ty of  his  character  was  now  directed  to  find  her 
out ;  and  fancying  she  had  gone  to  her  old 
friends,  he  posted  ofl',  leaving  a  wonderful  story 
to  the  good  people  of  Kensington,  which  was  told 
in  at  least  twenty  different  ways,  the  last  being 
the  most  extraordinary. 

While  all  was  agitation  and  confusion  in  her 
former  home — while  Mrs.  Hyher  re-approached 
Mrs.  Ryal,  and  Mrs.  Ryal  continued  to  assert 
that,  despite  all,  she  knew  she  was  right — while 
Mrs.  Gresham's  soft  heart  yielded  in  all  the  weak 
lovingnessofits  nature  to  the  conviction  that  Emi- 
ly Dawson  was  a  "wonder  among  governesses," 
and  Miss  Colette  Mercier  divided  her  feelings  as 
equally  as  possible  between  "chere  Emily,"  her 
new  parasol,  her  chere  maman,  and  a  certain 
leaning  towards  a  gentleman  who  always  wore 
"such  sweet  kid  gloves" — while  the  servants  re- 


154  THE    GOVERNESS. 

^retted  they  had  not  been  more  civil,  and  the 
visiters  that  they  had  not  been  more  poUte — Emi- 
ly Dawson,  overpowered  by  the  weight  of  an  ill- 
ness she  had  so  long  borne  np  against,  was  lying 
utterly  incapable  of  sustaining  thought  or  action 
ii)  the  small  back  room  of  a  tiny  house  at  Chel- 
sea. Mary's  arrival  was  a  great  consolation  to 
her.  She  sat  by  her  bedside  "  mending  up  her 
things,"  and  "quilling  her  caps,"  as  a  preparato- 
ry step  to  her  "  looking  for  a  new  place."  Emi- 
ly would  have  been  glad  had  she  talked  I'ss ; 
but  as  she  never  expected  an  answer,  and  chat- 
ted in  a  low,  sleepy,  rippling  tone  of  voice,  it  did 
not  disturb  her  much.  She  spoke  in  what  she 
considered  would  be  the  most  consohng  manner, 
showing  how  much  better  off  Emily  was  "than 
mar^y  a  poor  lady  governess  she  knew  long  ago." 
She  told  of  one  who,  having  lost  her  health,  died 
in  a  workhouse,  and  no  one  ever  looked  after 
her;  of  another,  who  was  the  only  comfort  and 
support  of  a  blind  father,  who  would  sit  holding 
her  hands  in  his,  running  his  fingers  over  the 
arm  worn  to  a  shadow,  listening  for  the  doctor's 
tread,  and  turning  his  sightless  eyes  to  his  face, 
as  if  .trying  to  read  an  opinion  it  gave  the  good 
doctor  pain  to  pronounce.  And  then,  how  she 
did  pray  that  God  would  take  her  father  first ;  but 
the  prayer  was  not  heard,  for  she  died,  and  every 
morning  the  father  crawled  to  the  churchyard. 
The  little  children  would  go  out  of  their  way  to 
lead  him  to  his  daughter's  grave;  and  at  last  he 
died  upon  it,  without  a  complaint;  and  the  core- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  155 

ner  returned  a  verdict — "  Died  by  the  visitation  of 
God;"  but  she  knew  it  was  by  the  visitation  of 
famine.  "  Another  young  person"  passed  them 
by  every  morning  ;  there,  that  was  her  walk,  she 
knew  it  by  the  lialting,  as  she  was  lame,  though 
for  all  that,  she  got  over  many  a  mile  in  a  week. 

She  had  a  turn  for  lans^uaoes,  and  tauoht  a 
great  many  at  a  sliilling  a  lesson,  and  had  con- 
stant employment ;  and  one  sister  instructed  in 
music,  and  another  in  dancing.  They  worked 
very  hard,  and  did  not  earn  much,  but  they  lived 
happy  with  one  another,  and  liked  it  better  than 
going  out  for  good,  though  Miss  Fanny  (the 
dancer)  was  fearful  she  couldn't  teach  this  last 
winter,  from  a  wheezing  she  caught  from  damp 
feet,  as  she  could  not  afford  to  ride.  Indeed, 
Mary  declared,  in  her  time  she  had  seen  much 
misery  under  a  thin  silk  gown  ;  poor  ladies  were 
obliged  to  seem  rich,  for  if  they  did  not  dress 
"respectable,"  no  one  would  have  them,  tliough 
they  hardly  paid  them  enough  to  earn  salt.  Miss 
Dawson  was  happy,  compared  to  many  she 
knew.  It  was  a  pity  that  tradesmen  did  not 
keep  their  daughters  to  the  shop  instead  of  giv- 
ing them  notions  above  one  thing  and  below 
another.  Making  them  governesses  half  times, 
was  little  better  than  making  them  slaves.  Miss 
Dawson  ought  to  bless  her  stars ;  for  as  soon  as 
her  cold  wore  away,  she'd  be  sure  of  a  good  sit- 
uation. 

And  she  would  have  talked  thus  much  longer, 
had  not  her  mother  called  her  out  to  inquire,  if 


156  THE    GOVERNESS. 

she  knew  '*  what  property  the  '  poor  lady '  had," 
as  a  doctor  ought  to  see  her  ;  •  and  Mary,  good- 
natured  girl,  spurned  at  the  question,  yet  coinci- 
ded in  the  opinion,  saying  she  was  no  expense  to 
them,  for  she  had  neither  ate  nor  drank ;  and  if 
she  had,  she  had  wherewith  to  pay — it  may  be 
remembered  that  Mary  did  not  particularly 
adhere  to  truth — and  that  the  doctor  had  better 
come  at  once ;  she  would  go  and  fetch  him — and 
so  she  did  ;  and  when  he  heard  her  cough,  and 
saw  the  flush  upon  her  cheek,  and  her  hair  moist 
with  the  dews  of  that  English  disease  to  which 
thousands  are  sacrificed,  he  blistered  her  chest  to 
relieve  her  breathing,  ordered  a  hght  diet,  and 
particularly  recommended  Italy,  the  south  of 
France,  or  Madeira ;  and  that  to  a  governess, 
with  three  pounds  five  and  sixpence  in  her  purse, 
and  no  friend ! 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  soon  better,  sir,"  she  said — 
"  very  soon.  I  have  been  much  worse ;  a  few 
days'  rest  and  quiet  will  quite  set  me  up." 

*'  Send  to  her  friends,"  said  the  doctor  to 
Mary. 

"  Lord,  sir  !"  replied  Mary,  opening  her  eyes, 
*'  sure  she^s  only  a  governess  !  " 


THE    GOVERNESS.  157 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Let  any  one  recall  the  sick-bed  of  a  beloved 
object  siifFering  from  hectic  fever ;  how  wearing 
that  everlasting  cough,  which  only  ceases  to  begin 
again ;  how  sad,  after  you  have  drawn  the  cur- 
tain, softened  the  night-lamp,  and  given  the  com- 
posing draught,  with  an  earnest  prayer  to  Al- 
mighty God  that  the  patient  may  enjoy  sleep, 
how  sad  still  to  hear  die  hack,  hack,  of  that 
gasping  chest  breaking  up  the  false  repose,  and 
then  to  know,  by  the  movement  and  the  sigh, 
that  the  poor  patient  has  turned;  and  though 
the  pillows  are  down,  and  the  sheets  cambric, 
and  though  thoughts  and  hands  of  tenderest 
love  have  smoothed  them,  and  poured  out  the 
most  soothing  and  reviving  perfumes — that  still, 
though  there  is  little  positive  pain,  there  is  no 
rest — and  you  are  called  ; — that  sweet  silver 
voice  steals  its  melodious  way  from  your  ear  to 
your  heart;  the  church  clock  has  struck  two, 
and  the  watchers'  eyes  are  heavy,  but  the  eyes 
of  the  watched  are  bright;  and  she  will  have 
you  open  the  curtain,  and  she  talks  of  things  to 
come  in  this  world — of  the  spring  time  and  the 
summer,  and  of  when  she  shall  be  better,  and  of 
how  pleasantly  the  autumn  will  pass  at  the  sea- 
side; the  summer  will  fly  quite  away  with  her 
cough,  and  then  she  shall  so  enjoy  the  autumn! 
And  while  she   talks,    her  thin  pure  face  and 


158  THE    GOVERNESS. 

glorious  brow,  round  whicli  the  damp  hair  cHngs, 
rest  on  your  bosom,  and  you  know  that  it  is 
now  December;  but  that  autumn,  summer, 
spring,  will  never  be  gladdened  by  that  hopefnl 
voice !  Nothing  can  bring  her  back  the  ease  of 
body  which  the  poor  cat  enjoys  before  tlie  fire ; 
tended,  as  she  is  by  the  watchful  love  of  a  whole 
house,  slie  knows  not  rest.  How  much  more 
must  the  governess  have  suffered  in  that  small 
room,  upon  a  hard  bed,  shaken  by  kmdly  but 
rough  hands,  believing  that  if  God  prolonged 
the  life  which,  despite  our  sufferings,  we  all 
cling  to,  it  would  be  ended — where?  Alas!  no 
hospital  will  open  its  doors  to  consumption ;  the 
lagging,  certain,  wearing,  wasting,  complaint, 
engendered  by  our  shivering  atmosphere,  of 
which  so  many  hundreds,  especially  governesses, 
perish,  finds  no  public  friend  m  charitable  Eng- 
land.* But  it  was  not  only  the  wretched, 
unrelieved,  weariness  and  pain  of  body  that 
Emily  suffered  from;  it  was,  that  she  had  been 
hooted  forth  characterless;  she,  the  pure,  high- 
minded,  upright,  honourable  girl,  trembled  lest 
she  was  sinking  into  her  grave  tainted ;  that  slie 
would  meet  her  mother  with  the  mark  of  shame, 
which  passeth  not  away,  upon  her  brow.  The 
notion  haunted  her ;  the  thought  of  it  would  not 

*  I  am  happy  to  say  that  this  will  not  be  much  longer  a  reproach 
to  England  ;  a  few  kind-hearted  estimable  persons  in  this  neighbour- 
hood (Old  Brompton)  have  already  advanced  considerably  with  a 
plan  and  subscription  to  open  an  asylum  for  the  relief— if  euro  be 
impossible — of  consumptive  patients. 


THE    GOVERNESS.  159 

let  her  sleep  by  night  or  by  day ;  she  said  in  the 
morning  she  would  be  better  by  the  evening, 
and  in  the  evening  she  would  certainly  be  better 
in  the  morning ;  for  she  was  of  a  hopeful  spirit; 
and  her  disease — slow,  pallid,  traitor  that  it  is — 
encouraged  hope.  Several  days  elapsed,  and 
her  little  money,  despite  Mary's  exertions,  was 
nearly  gone.  With  the  high-toned  generosity 
of  a  noble  mind,  she  would  not  write  to  her 
friend  of  her  distress,  for  she  knew  she  had  not 
the  means  to  relieve  her,  and  why  should  she 
make  her  unhappy.  She  did  write,  though  a 
little  every  day,  resolving  to  send  the  letter  off 
lohen  she  was  better.  The  doctor  saw  she  grew 
rapidly  worse,  more  rapidly  than  usual,  for  her 
niiad  was  goading  the  disease  to  double  speed ; 
her  money  was  gone,  though  Mary  stoutly  said 
it  was  not,  and  showed  her  silver,  which  the  girl 
had  pledged  her  own  Sunday-shawl  to  obtain. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Byfield  was  driven 
almost  to  madness.  What  would  he  not  have 
given  to  have  had  ihe  power  of  recalling  his  for- 
mer harshness? — how  he  deprecated  the  bitter- 
ness which  made  him  change  even  his  name, 
that  his  child  might  never  hear  of  him  !  how 
cruel  did  he  deem  what  a  little  time  before  he 
would  have  called  his  consistency  !  how  did  he 
mingle  tears  with  his  morning  and  evening  pray- 
ers, and  in  positive  agony  call  upon  his  wife  to 
forgive  him  his  unforgiveness  toward  his  child  ! 
He  found  no  trace  of  his  grandaughter  in  her 
native  place,  and  in  London  he  was  bewildered 


160  THE    GOVERNESS. 

by  the  difficulties  and  negatives  he  experienced 
every  where. 

Mary  had  only  been  a  few  weeks  in  her  place, 
and  had  covered  her  retreat  with  Avhat  she  con- 
sidered admirable  skill.  The  abruptness  and 
violence  of  Mr.  Byfield's  manner  defeated  his 
own  inquiries  ;  but  fortunately,  Mrs.  Grcsham, 
who  had  taken  from  the  first  a  warm  interest  in 
Emily,  was  more  successful.  She  made  inqui- 
ries with  a  woman's  tact,  and  at  last  communi- 
cated the  good  news,  that  slie  had  traced  Miss 
Dawson  to  Mary's  house.  The  old  man  intreat- 
ed  her  to  accompany  him  there,  and  she  con- 
sented. Mary's  mother  had  become  very  discon- 
tented at  her  lodger's  poverty,  and  mother  and 
daugliter  were  in  loud  altercation  on  the  subject, 
vrhen  Mr.  Byfield,  unable  to  restrain  his  impa- 
tience, thundered  so  loudly  at  the  door,  as  to 
bring  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  street  to  their 
windows. 

*'  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  know  nothing  about  her. 
How  should  I  ?  "  exclaimed  Mary  to  Mr.  By- 
field,  who  could  only  get  his  stick  through  the 
open  door,  for  she  held  it  close  with  a  considera- 
ble share  of  strength.  "  It's  no  use  your  coming 
ill ;  she's  not  here  ;  and  if  she  was,  what  is  it  to 
you,  you  old  sinner?" 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Byfield,  '*  she  is  my 
grandchild.  God  help  me  ! "  muttered  the  old 
man,  as  he  leant  against  the  door-post ;  "  God 
help  me !  that  rough  girl  guards  her  honour  mor6 
carefully  than  I  did." 


THE    GOVERNESS.  161 

"That's  impossible  !"  answered  Mary.  "  If 
you  was  her  grandfather,  you'd  never  have  sent 
her  governessing  to  Mrs.  Hyher,  I  know." 

"  I  am  here,  Mary,"  said  the  gentle  voice  of 
Mrs.  Gresham  ;  "  and  it  is  quite  true  that  Miss 
Dawson  is  Mr.  Byfield's  grandaughter." 

Mary  opened  the  door  with  what,  in  the  poor, 
is  deemed  "  impertinence,"  in  the  rich,  "  self- 
possession,"  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  ;  curtsied 
them  in,  and  hoped  that  Mr.  Byfield  would  not 
think  the  worse  of  her  ;  she  was  a  poor  girl ;  and 
though  great  folks  might  live  without  a  character, 
she  could  not. 

Mrs.  Gresham  told  Miss  Dawson  the  fact  she 
had  learned  as  delicately  and  carefully  as  it  could 
be  told  ;  and  accounted  for  the  old  man's  strange- 
ness by  expressing  the  desire  he  felt  to  see,  him- 
self, how  she  would  bear  the  rubs  of  life.  She 
thanked  God  earnestly  for  the  disclosure.  The 
old  man  knelt  by  her  bedside,  and  called  her 
*'  his  child" — "his  dear  child" — "  his  only  hope 
and  comfort  on  this  side  the  grave."  Alas  ! 
people  who  are  liberal  of  the  bitters  of  existence, 
should  remember  that  poison  even  unto  death, 
may  steal  into  the  cup. 

In  a  few  hours,  Emily  was  removed  upon  lux- 
urious cushions  to  the  house  of  which  she  had 
become  the  most  honoured  mistress  ;  even  Mrs. 
Hylier  sent  her  little  girls  to  minister  to  her  com- 
forts ;  and  Mary  was  of  course  with  her.  A 
sudden  spirit  of  sisterly  love  and  tenderness 
sprang  up  amongst  those  who  had  been  account- 
11 


162  THE    GOVERNESS. 

ed  censorious  and  malevolent ;  and  the  sur- 
rounding maids,  wives,  and  widows,  became  ani- 
mated by  a  most  extraordinary  longing  for  in- 
quiring into  the  state  of  Miss  Dawson's  health. 
They  ascertained  what  Mr.  Byfield's  name  had 
been,  and  that  he  had  changed  it  to  avoid  his 
dauifhter's  recognition.  This  knowledge  afforded 
them  satisfaction  ;  they  did  not  even  venture  to 
censure  the  unpardonable  harshness  from  a  father 
to  a  child,  though  some  of  the  more  independent 
spirits  amongst  them  insinuated,  that  "  it  was  at 
least  very  strange,  and  carrying  resentment  farther 
than  they  could  have  done."  Mrs.  Ryal  was  the 
only  one  who  remained  firm  to  her  first  *'  princi- 
ples "  and  opinions. 

Every  thing  that  skill  could  suggest,  or  luxury 
invent,  was  resorted  to  for  the  relief  and  comfort 
of  the  long-neglected  girl.  The  great  physician 
of  the  day  told  her  grandfather,  who  stood  before 
him  with  clasped  and  trembling  hands,  watchful 
eyes  and  ears,  drinking  in  his  words,  that  when 
she  was  able  to  be  removed,  he  would  recommend 
the  south  of  Italy.  This  was  in  her  dressing- 
room — a  room  hung  with  pale  pink  silk,  where 
the  softest  breeze  whispered  its  way  amid  crowd- 
ed exotics,  and  the  very  light  of  heaven  stole 
through  tinted  glass  ;  where  the  old  man  himself 
removed  his  shoes  before  he  entered,  lest  the 
smallest  noise  might  disturb  the  ci  eature  cushion- 
ed upon  satin,  who,  only  a  few  weeks  before, 
was  expected  to  brave  cold  winds  and  everlasting 
fatigue.      The  reaction  upon  the  grandfather's 


THE    GOVERNESS.  l63 

mind  amounted  almost  to  insanity.  The  stern, 
bitter  satirist,  had  melted  into  a  fond  old  man, 
who  seemed  absorbed  in  having  once  more  some- 
thing upon  which  he  could  safely  pour  out  his  long 
pent-up  affections.  It  was  not  that  a  new"  nature 
had  sprung  up  in  him  ;  it  was  only  the  nature  cf 
his  youth  reTurned.  The  truth  was,  it  loas  him- 
self with  whom  he  had  been  ill  at  ease,  and  not 
the  ivorld.  This  is  more  frequently  the  case  tliaii 
we  are  inclined  to  believe. 

The  physician  again  felt  her  pulse,  spoke  a  faw 
kindly  words,  and  departed.  So  softly  did  Mr. 
Byfield  follow  him  down  stairs,  that  he  did  not 
even  hear  his  foot-fall ;  but  he  arrested  his  atten- 
tion when  in  the  hall,  by  pressing  his  arm.  "  Sir, 
sh',"  he  said  in  a  trembling  tone  :  "  in  here — 
speak  softly — she  does  not  love  noise.  You  said, 
when  she  was  able,  we  were  to  go  to  the  south 
of  Italy.  Now,  how  soon  w^ill  that  be  1  We 
have  had  some  sharp  north  winds — those  keep 
her  back  ;  but  it  will  be  when  the  wind 
changes  1  " 

"  Not  so  soon  as  that,  my  good  sir  ;  but  I  hope 
soon — indeed  I  hope  it — she  has  interested  me 
much.  You  must  keep  her  quiet — perfect  re- 
pose— she  must  speak  but  as  little  as  possible ; 
she  must  not  exert  herself  in  the  least ;  her  lungs 
have  been  over- worked." 

*'  God  forgive  me  ;  they  have,  they  have  !  " 

*'  Very  natural,  my  dear  sir,  you  should  have 
liked  her  to  read  and  talk  to  you  ;  but  you  must 


164  THE    GOVERNESS. 

give  that  up,"  continued  the  physician,  not  know- 
ing her  past  history. 

*'  Ay,  sir,  ay — but  Italy;  when  will  she  be  able 
to  be  removed — in  a  week — a  fortnight,  per- 
haps— three  weeks'?" 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  so.  We  can,  you  know,  only 
do  our  best,  and  hope." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  we  can  pray — and  I  do.  You 
think  it  may  be  a  month  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  possibly  tell  to  a  particular  time. 
We  must  watch  the  symptoms,  and  act  accord- 
ingly." 

"  Certainly,  sir  ;  but  you  say  the  climate  is  not 
fit  for  her?' 

*'  It  is  not ;  but  she  cannot  bear  exertion  yet. 
Good  morning,  my  dear  sir ;  I  will  try  and  be 
here  to-morrow  precisely  at  the  same  hour." 

"  You  do  not  trifle  with  me,  sir,  do  you? — 
raising  hope  to  destroy  it  ? "  inquired  the  old 
man,  almost  fiercely. 

"  I  have  raised  no  hope,"  returned  the  doctor. 
"  If  she  bears  removal,  it  must  be  to  the  south 
of  Italy." 

Mr.  Byfield  caught  at  the  back  of  a  chair,  and 
gasped  for  breath  ;  at  last  he  repeated,  "  If — if; 
you  said  if.     Is  there  any  doubt,  then  1 " 

The  agony  and  despair  lined  in  the  old  man's 
face  compelled  the  doctor  to  lay  down  his  hat : 
and  the  next  moment  found  him  seated  by  Mr. 
Byfield's  side. 

"  My  dear,  good  sir,  I  never  deceive  ;  but  1 
hope  you  will  nerve  yourself  as  becomes  a  Chris- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  165 

tian.  All  things  are  possible  ;  and  every  thing 
shall  be,  indeed  of  late  has  been,  done,  to  over- 
throw our  insidious  foe.     "  If  I   had  seen  her 

sooner" the  old  man  started  as  if  an  asp  had 

stung ;  him  "  though  indeed  that  might  not  have 
availed  much,"  continued  the  ready  doctor  ;  "  she 
is  young — the  summer  before  her — let  us  hope  for 
the  best,  and  do  our  best ;  but  I  tell  you  frankly, 
the  symptoms  are  against  us." 

"  But  she  said  she  was  so  much  better  this 
morning  1" 

"  It  is  a  cause  of  exceeding  thankfulness  to 
find  her  so  cheerful." 

"And  a  good  sign,  sir  ?  " 

"  The  sign  of  a  good  mind,"  rephed  the  medi- 
co, evasively. 

Mr.  Byfield  was  gratified  by  the  idea.  "  And 
so  she  has — an  angel's  mind,"  he  answered. 
*'  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  to-morrow  about  Italy, 
sir.  I  have  worked  hard  all  my  life,  and  have 
been  a  thriving  man — more  rich  than  people 
think,  sir.  I  will  heap  gold  upon  that  table,  so 
that  you  can  hardly  move  it,  if  you  but  save  her 
life." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  development  of  char- 
acter !  "  thought  the  physician,  as  his  carriage 
rolled  away ;  "  why,  a  tithe  of  this  care  would 
have  saved  her — ay,  six  months  ago  !  " 

"And  where  have  you  been,  dear  grandpapa," 
said  Emily,  as  he  stole  again  into  her  room,  to  sit 
and  look  at  her,  as  he  had  done  duiing  the  past 


166  THE    GOVERNESS. 

weeks,  until  they  had  grown  into  months. 
"  Where  have  you  been  1 " 

"  Hush  !  you  must  not  talk  ! "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  but  I  may,  a  little  under  my  breath.  I 
used  to  be  obliged  to  talk,  but  now  it  is  a  plea- 
sure. Do  let  me  mention  what  we  spoke  of  yes- 
terday— the  nice  alms-houses  you  said  you  would 
build  for  old  governesses.  Oh,  how  glad  I  shall 
be  to  see  the  first  stone  laid  !  When  shall  it  be  ? 
Next  August,  on  my  birth-day  ?  Or,  come  here, 
J  will  speak  very  sofdy,  if  you  will  not  be  angry. 
My  poor  mother  !  She  used  to  be  so  proud  of  her 
governess-child  !  Would  you  lay  the  first  stone 
on  her  birth-day — the  first  of  September  1  Thank 
you,  dear  grandpapa  !  Bless  you !  I  see  you 
will !  I  shall  not  want  to  go  to  Italy  ;  that  will 
cure  me !  " 

It  was  beautiful  to  observe,  that,  though  this 
creature  loved  life,  as  a  young  bird  loves  to  poise 
upon  its  feeble  wings,  she  did  not  fear  death.  As 
her  frame  decayed — as  she  wasted  into  a  shad- 
owy outline  of  what  all  those  who  had  known 
her  note  declared  had  been  so  beautiful,  her  mind, 
freed  from  the  grosser  particles  of  earth,  became 
more  buoyant — purer  it  could  hardly  be — though 
more  etherial,  when  her  cough  permitted  short 
snatches  of  sleep.  She  seemed  as  if,  through 
those  thin  eyelids,  she  gazed  upon  all  the  myste- 
ries of  the  unclouded  world  ;  a  perpetual  smile 
parted  the  pallid  lip,  like  the  division  of  a  lily- 
bud  ;  and  when  she  awoke,  it  was  to  confer  fresh 


THE    GOVERNESS.  167 

interest  on  the  things  of  hfe — an  angel  bringing 
the  odour  of  paradise  on  its  wings. 

Poor  Miss  Mercier  woidd  kneel  for  hours  by 
her  side,  and  smile  and  weep  by  turns.  "  It  did 
her  good,"  she  said  ;  and  she  said  rightly.  Such 
scenes  do  good ;  they  strike  upon  the  heart ; 
there  is  no  deception  in  them. 

"  Do  not  weep  for  me,"  said  Emily  ;  "  I  shall 
be  better  soon.  Every  day  I  become  better  ;  and 
if  I  could  only  make  you  feel  the  importance  of 
your  duties,  I  should  be  so  much  happier.  I  am 
changed,  though,  a  good  deal.  Were  I  to  teach 
again,  I  would  try  and  interest  my  pupils  more 
about  Hereafter  than  I  did  before.  1  would  talk 
to  them  much  more  about  the  heavens,  those 
lightsome  heavens,  where  the  just  are  made  per- 
fect ;  it  is  so  happy  to  think  of  their  radiance, 
their  glory,  their  everlastingness  ;  and  to  think  of 
this  beautiful  world,  in  which  I  once  sorrowed 
and  laboured,  and  yet  loved ;  for  surely  it  was 
created  by  God  as  a  place  of  transit,  where  the 
good  may  have  a  foretaste  of  that  happiness  pre- 
pared for  them  hereafter  !  " 

She  would  talk  tlius  to  all,  pouring  forth  the 
very  sweetness  of  wisdom,  so  that  people  won- 
dered how  she  had  gained  such  knowledge.  Her 
two  former  pupils  could  hardly  be  separated  from 
her ;  and  though  her  grandfather  manifested 
much  impatience  at  being  disturbed  from  her  side 
by  any  one,  still  he  was  so  proud,  even  during 
those  awfid  hours,  of  her  goodness  and  sweet 
mind,  that  he  could  not  refuse  them  admission, 


168  THE    GOVERNESS. 

but  made  up  for  disappointments  by  stealing  into 
the  room  during  the  night,  and  watching  or  pray- 
ing while  the  heavy-eyed  nurse  slept.  Each  day 
the  physician  came,  and  each  day  the  old  gentie- 
m  in  would  follow  him  outside  the  door,  and  in- 
quire, as  though  the  question  were  still  new — 
"  When  will  the  time  come  1  When  may  we 
go  to  Italy  ]  "  And  the  doctor  would  reply,  with 
a  kind  look,  "  Not  yet." 

Even  to  Mr.  Byfield,  to  every  one  but  herself, 
it  was  evident  she  was  dying ;  it  is  almost  too 
hard  a  word  to  apply  to  such  a  passing  away  ;  it 
was  as  if  a  rose  dropped  leaf  by  leaf,  until  the 
last  few  that  remained  trembled  on  the  stem. 
She  said,  every  day,  she  was  better,  much  better; 
she  had  no  pain  now  ;  and  she  should  soon  be 
able  to  drive  out  in  the  warm  sunshine.  Her 
friend,  the  clergyman's  sister,  came  to  her  from 
the  country.  And  the  clergyman  himself,  he 
who  had  attended  her  mother's  death-bed,  prayed 
beside  hers.  It  might  have  been  that  the  young 
man  loved  her  ;  but  she  never  dreamt  he  did — 
never.  She  talked  a  great  deal  of  the  past  and 
future,  and  of  what  blessings  would  arise  from  a 
higher-toned  education.  And  one  morning  in 
particular,  when  the  doctor  called,  he  reproved 
her  for  wasting  her  strength  in  words.  Again 
Mr.  By  field  followed  him  outside  the  room,  and 
the  physician  led  him  into  another  apartment, 
and  closed  the  door. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  our  dear  patient  is 
very  weak  to-day." 


THE    GOVERNESS.  169 

"  She  said  she  was  better,"  rephed  Mr.  By- 
field. 

"She  is  not ;  her  mind  is  purer,  and  higher, 
and  holier  than  ever  ;   but  she  is  sinking." 

"  Not  unto  death  ? "  muttered  the  old  man. 

The  physician  turned  away ;  he  could  not 
bear  to  look  upon  his  earnest  features. 

"  God  bless  you,  sir  ;  you  have  a  great  conso- 
lation ;  every  thing  has  been  done  that  could  be 
done;  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  heaven;  good 
morning — be  composed." 

The  old  man  turned  away — he  was  alone — 
he  sank  into  a  chair ;  burst  after  burst  of  tears 
convulsed  his  frame.  .  It  was  nearly  four  hours 
l)efore  he  could  enter  her  room  again;  he  saw 
she  was  greatly  changed  in  that  short  space  of 
time,  and  yet  she  hailed  him  with  her  feeble 
voice,  declaring  she  was  better;  he  motioned 
Miss  Mercier,  who  had  been  with  her,  to  leave 
the  chamber.  He  took  her  hand  in  his,  gazed 
earnestly  into  her  face,  and  sank  upon  his  knees. 

"  It  is  not  time  for  prayer  yet,  is  iti — it  is  not 
night  yetl"  she  said;  "but  pray,  dear  grand- 
father, I  was  wrong — it  is  always  time  for 
prayer." 

"I  am  going,"  he  answered,  "to  pray  to  you. 
Listen !  Here,  on  my  knees,  I  do  intreat  your 
pardon;  an  old  man,  whose  harshness  deprived 
you  of  your  mother — whose  harshness  has 
abridged  the  length  of  your  sweet  life.  I  did 
not  intend  to  try  you  beyond  your  strength,  but 
I  ought  to  have  known  better.     I  chained  you 


170  THE    GOVERNESS. 

with  those  hands  to  the  galley,  when  I  should 
have  given  you  freedom.  Can  you  forgive  me, 
Emily?  And  when  you  meet  your  mother,  will 
you  ask  her  not  to  turn  from  me  in  heaven  as  I 
turned  from  her  on  earth.  I  will  never  rise  till 
you  forgive  and  bless  me  !" 

The  poor  girl  was  deeply  affected  ;  she  threw 
herself  feebly  forward  and  clasped  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  pressed  her  cheek  to  his. 
She  poured  forgiveness  and  blessings  on  his 
white  head,  and  fondly  pushed  back  the  silver 
hair  from  his  brow.  He  replaced  her  on  her 
pillow ;  but  the  exertion  had  shaken  the  sand  in 
the  glass  of  life  ;  it  was  passing  rapidly. 

"  You  will  be  kind  to  those  I  love,"  she  said, 
"  and  truly  forgive  those  who  were  harsh  to  me ; 
and  you  will  be  very  good  to  poor  Mary;  and — 
oh,  heavenly  Father,  receive  my  spirit!" 

These  were  her  last  words.  The  old  man, 
frantic  with  grief,  dispatched  the  nurse,  who  had 
just  entered  the  room,  for  help;  and  when  she 
returned,  the  dead  face  of  his  grandchild  was 
resting  on  his  breast,  and  he  held  up  his  finger, 
and  said,  "  Hush  !  hush  !  "  as  though  she  slept, 
which  he  believed  she  did  ;  and  all  night  long  he 
remained  in  the  same  position,  murmuring  every 
now  and  then  as  if  soothing  a  slumbering  infant. 

The  old  man  is  still  living,  but  they  say  his 
mind  is  gone.  Certainly  his  affections  are  in 
the  grave,  which  he  persists  m  saying  was  dug 
by  his  own  hands. 


DUMMY 


"l    WAS    BORN    SO,    MOTHER." 

"  I  ASSURE  you  it  was  all  Dummy's  fault, 
grandmamma ;  you  know  that  when  she  gets  a 
notion  into  her  head  it  is  quite  impossible  to 
prevent  her  from  persisting  in  doing  whatever 
she  determines  to  do  !" 

"  She  is  a  little  obstinate,  now  and  then,  I 
confess,"  replied  Lady  Isabella  Lloyd  to  her 
granddaughter  Margaret,  who  censured  so  se- 
verely one  who  had  been  sorely  afflicted. — "  A 
little  obstinate,  now  and  then,"  repeated  the 
noble  old  lady — "  but  that  ought  not  to  provoke 
injustice :  you  forget,  Margaret,  who  sate  by 
your  bed  of  long  continued  illness — you  forget 
who  watches  your  every  movement — you  forget 
who  humbles  to  your  every  caprice — you  for- 
get"— 

"  No,  grandmamma,"  interrupted  the  young 
lady,  "I  do  not  forget — I  love  dear  Dummy 
very  much,  but  she  vexes  me  sometimes." 

'*  You  vex  both  her  and  me  very  often,"  re- 


172 


plied  her  mother — "  and  you  should  remember 
that  her  infirmity  frequently  causes  her  to  be 
impetuous,  while  you,  my  child,  have,  thank 
God,  no  such  excuse  !" 

"  Dummy,"  as  the  subject  of  this  conversation 
had  been  always  called,  was  a  young  and  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful  Indian  girl,  who  had  been 
committed  to  the  care  of  Lady  Isabella  and  Mr. 
Lloyd,  no  one  exactly  knew  why,  when  not  more 
than  five  years  old  ;  nobody  knew  who  she  was  ; 
— the  servants  called  her  "  Miss  Dummy," — 
Lady  Isabella  "  little  Dummy," — and  Margaret 
(when  she  was  in  a  good  humour)  "  dear  Dum- 
my."— The  captain  of  the  vessel  who  brought 
her  over,  designated  her  as  Dummy  in  a  sort  of 
bill-of  lading  letter  which  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Lloyd, 
intimating  her  arrival  and  consignment  to  his 
care ;  and  when  the  poor  child  appeared  at 
Lloyd  Park,  why  she  was  so  described  was  but 
too  apparent.  She  had  not  been  born  deaf; 
but  so  very  imperfect  were  her  organs  of  speech, 
that  she  could  not  pronounce  the  simplest  sen- 
tence without  such  painful  hesitation,  that  it  was 
perfect  agony  both  to  herself  and  others — and  it 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  she  learned  with 
avidity  the  signs  which  interpreted  her  thoughts, 
and  saved  her  so  much  labour  and  excitement. 

Lady  Isabella  treated  her  with  great  kind- 
ness, and  the  little  stranger  returned  her  love 
with  a  sevenfold  interest.  She  was  one  of  those 
creatures  made  up  of  tenderness  and  affection, 
with  whom  the  world  has  little  sympathy,  be- 


DUMMY.  173 

cause  it  cannot  understand  the  earnestness,  the 
uncalculating  fondness,  the  devotion,  the  sim- 
pheity  of  its  emotions.  She  was  of  singular  and 
peculiar  beauty  :  her  limbs  appeared  as  if  bound 
together  more  by  will  than  the  power  of  muscle  ; 
they  were  so  small,  so  agile,  so  graceful,  so  full 
of  motion,  and  so  beautiful  when  in  repose.  To 
her  the  world  appeared  as  one  huge  mass  of 
poetry  :  she  wept  with  tlie  showers  and  danced 
with  the  sunshine  ;  she  loved  flowers,  and  moon- 
light and  music  ;  and  every  bird  and  beast  that 
was  young  and  helpless  was,  as  it  were,  cherish- 
ed in  her  bosom,  or  carried  in  her  arms.  It  was 
singular  to  observe  how  completely  the  luxuries 
and  enjoyments  of  society  failed  to  excite  her 
interest;  this  was  the  principal  reason  why  she 
w^as  so  little  seen  by  persons  of  rank  and  fashion 
who  visited  at  Lloyd  Park,  or  joined  the  fetes 
during  the  family's  sojourn  at  their  old-fashioned 
mansion  in  Grosvenor  Place.  Added  to  this 
distaste  for  society,  or  perhaps  the  real  cause  of 
its  existence,  was  the  knowledge  she  had  of  her 
defect ;  not  to  be  able  to  reply  when  spoken  to 
must  have  caused  a  mind  like  hers  a  painful  and 
constantly  recurring  misery  ;  and  though  she 
wrote  apt  and  piquant  answers  to  all  who  ques- 
tioned, and  wrote  them  in  an  exquisite  hand 
upon  her  little  tablets  of  the  whitest  ivory,  still 
she  would  retire  from  society  to  her  books,  her 
music,  or  her  flowers,  leaving  her  lofty  and  mag- 
nificent friend   Margaret  in  quiet  possession  of 


174  DUMMY. 

the  homage  she  appreciated  far  more  highlj 
than  it  deserved. 

Sometimes  Lady  Isabella  would  force  her  into 
society,  and  display  her  beautiful  charge  calling 
sweet  music  from  the  harp,  upon  which  she  ex- 
celled,— yet  in  a  way  dift'erent  from  all  others. 
Her  execution  was  not  startling,  but  the  tones 
were  deep  and  low,  swelling  and  melodious, 
shadowing  forth  the  gentler  passions,  and  play- 
ing with  the  feelings,  until  she  tuned  them  to 
her  own  sweet  will.  She  felt  all  she  expressed, 
and  expressed  it  all  the  better  for  the  feeling ; 
and  her  smiles  would  quiver,  or  her  dark  lus- 
trous eyes  overflow  with  tears,  as  she  revelled 
ill  melody,  the  cadences  of  which  sunk  into  the 
heart. 

Lady  Isabella  Lloyd  had  the  misfortune  to 
lose  her  only  son  the  same  year  that  Dummy 
was  consigned  to  her  care :  the  calamity^  was  in- 
creased by  the  fact  that  the  only  child  he  left  had 
lost  her  mother,  who  unfortunately  died  the  day 
on  which  she  was  born. 

Margaret  and  her  young  companion  grew  in 
stature  and  in  aifection  together  ;  I  say  affection, 
because,  notwithstanding  Margaret's  hasty  and 
imperious  temper,  and  her  proneness  to  cast 
blame  upon  her  friend,  she  loved  her,  not  per- 
haps with  a  very  strong  affection,  for  that  would 
have  overcome  all  jealousy,  and  those  little  pain- 
ful fits  of  occasional  ill-temper  which  she  in- 
dulged in  ;  but  she  really  liked  the  Indian  girl 
very  much   when    she   did   not  fancv   thut    her 


DUMMY.  175 

grandmamma  loved  her  too  well.  The  observa- 
tion which  drew  forth  Lady  Isabella's  reproof 
was  one  she  was  rather  too  often  in  the  habit 
of  making:  if  the  pitch  of  the  piano  did  not  ex- 
actly suit  her  voice,  it  was  Dummy's  fault ;  if 
she  misplaced  her  drawings,  Dummy  was 
blamed  :  if  her  harp-playing  was  not  admired  as 
much  as  she  thought  it  deserved  to  be,  Dummy 
was  secretly  condemned.  "  It  is  her  playing," 
imagined  Margaret,  "  that  throws  mine  into  the 
shade." 

My  young  friends,  have  you  ever  thought  of 
the  meanness  and  despicable  nature  of  envy  ? 
Have  you  considered  its  dangerous  tendency  ? 
have  you  called  to  mind  how  it  lowers  and  de- 
grades every  generous  principle  of  your  nature  1 
have  you  observed  how  it  debases  the  mind,  and 
cramps  the  understanding  ?  have  you  not  read 
how  Cain  envied  Abel  1  Envy  was  the  first 
murderer.  I  would  say  to  you  earnestly,  most 
earnestly,  suffer  it  not  to  enter  your  hearts,  for, 
if  once  it  enters,  it  will  dwell  therein  ;  it  is  the 
most  creeping  and  insidious  of  all  sins;  its  pro- 
gress is  almost  imperceptible,  but  it  is  sure  ;  and 
its  effects  on  yourself  and  towards  others  are  ter- 
rible to  think  upon. 

If  any  one  had  told  Margaret  that  she  envied 
her  afflicted  companion,  she  would  have  tossed 
her  haughty  head,  and  demanded  lohy  ?  Yet 
she  did  envy  her.  She  envied  her  the  share  she 
possessed  of  her  grandmamma's  affections ;  she 
envied  her  the  admiration  excited  by  her  beauty, 


176  DUMMY. 

and  her  skill  in  music.  She  forgot  how  great 
were  her  privations,  and  she  suffered  her  niiiid 
to  become  tainted  by  this  despicable  vice.  You 
must  not  suppose  that  Dummy  was  faultless ; 
she  was  irritable  ;  she  was  apt  to  imagine  that 
she  was  the  object  of  slight  and  remark,  when 
she  was  neither ;  and,  though  she  had  latterly 
conquered  herself  to  a  great  degree,  and  did  not 
exhibit  the  impatience  she  used  in  her  childhood, 
yet  her  cheek  would  flush,  her  eyes  overflow 
with  tears,  and  she  would  seek  the  privacy  of  her 
own  room,  and  weep  away  her  irritation.  Du- 
ring her  early  days  it  had  never  entered  into  her 
mind  to  inquire  how  she  was  supported  ;  wheth- 
er she  possessed  any  property  of  her  own,  or 
was  entirely  dependent  upon  the  bounty  of  Mr. 
and  Lady  Isabella  Lloyd.  When,  however,  she 
had  attained  her  sixteenth  year,  she  became  very 
anxious  about  it,  and  ventured  to  question  Lady 
Lsabella  upon  the  subject ;  it  was  with  a  tremb- 
ling hand  that  she  presented  her  the  tablet  upon 
which  the  inquiry  was  written,  with  a  request  to 
tell  her  who  she  was. 

"  Are  you  not  happy  1"  said  the  old  lady. 

Dummy  threw  her  arms  around  her  friend's 
neck  as  an  assurance  that  she  loved  her,  rather 
than  as  a  reply  to  her  question.  "  You  will 
never  want  the  means  of  living  as  you  now  live," 
continued  Lady  Isabella  ;  "  will  not  that  content 
you  1"  Dummy  hung  her  head.  "  I  do  not 
like  to  refuse  you  any  reasonable  request ;  and 
yet,  perhaps  it  is  better  that  you  know  nothing 


177 


more  about  yourself."  Tlie  girl  closed  her 
hands  m  supplication.  Lady  Isabella  paused  : 
— "  You  have  a  claim  upon  us ;  in  point  of 
feeling,  almost  as  strong  as  Margaret's  ; — listen  ; 
— Mr.  Lloyd  has  been  twice  married  ;  I  am  his 
second  wife.  His  first  marriage  produced  him 
a  daughter,  who  became,  as  she  grew  up,  any- 
thing but  a  blessing  to  him.  Without  his  per- 
mission she  went  to  India,  where  she  died,  leav- 
ing you  upon  the  world." — "  And  my  father?" 
wrote  the  Indian  on  her  tablets.  "  We  suppose 
him  dead ;  at  all  events  he  deserted  you.  My 
husband  felt  his  daughter's  disobedience  and  evil 
conduct  so  bitterly,  that  I  could  only  prevail 
upon  him  to  receive  you  on  one  condition,  that 
your  relationship  was  never  to  be  mentioned." 

"  I  could  not  help  my  poor  mother's  error," 
— she  pencilled — "  I  am  not  disobedient." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Lady  Isabella,  "  per- 
haps I  have  not  done  right  in  telling  you  so 
much ;  you  can  form  no  idea  of  the  cause  of 
Mr.  Lloyd's  displeasure ;  it  was  great,  it  was 
terrible  !  Your  mother  almost  broke  his  heart. 
Margaret  has  no  idea  of  this  ;  she  does  not  know 
that  her  grandfather  had  ever  more  than  one 
child,  and  it  is  better  that  she  continue  to  think 
so." 

Dummy  seized  her  tablets  eagerly,  and  wrote, 
"  She  would  love  me  better  if  she  thought  I  was 
her  cousin." 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Isabella,  "  she  would  not ; 
and  I  command  voii  not  to  inform  her  of  it." 
12 


178  DUMMY. 

Lady  Isabella  had  seen  the  envious  disposition 
of  her  otherwise  beloved  Margaret,  and  bitterly 
did  she  lament  it.  Dummy  felt  most  sensibly 
this  excellent  lady's  kindness ;  and,  while  she 
wept  upon  her  bosom,  her  voiceless  prayers  were 
offered  that  God  might  reward  her  generosity 
to  the  poor  girl,  who,  but  for  her  intercession, 
would  have  been  indeed  an  outcast. 

Then  she  again  wrote,  "  I  have  nothing  of 
my  own  !" 

*'  You  have  enough,"  was  Lady  Isabella's  re- 
ply, "  and  you  will  always  have  enough." 

"  But  I  owe  all  to  charity  !"  was  her  next  re- 
mark, and  she  blushed  while  she  wrote  it. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Isabella  gravely,  "  we 
owe  all  to  charity — to  the  charity  of  God  !" 

Dummy  was  not  satisfied.  She  longed  to  tell 
Margaret  of  her  relationship — she  longed  to 
think  of  Mr.  Lloyd,  (though  he  was  a  harsh, 
stern  man) — she  longed  to  ivrite  him  "  Grand- 
papa." She  often  wept  for  her  mother,  and 
wondered  if,  when  the  end  of  all  things  came, 
she  should  be  able  to  recognise  her  in  another 
world.  Her  father  too,  she  wondered  if  he  were 
yet  alive,  and  inquired  of  herself  if  he  would  look 
stern  and  cold  like  Mr.  Lloyd.  Margaret,  whom 
she  tenderly  loved,  repulsed  her  in  a  thousand 
different  ways ;  her  behaviour  to  her  was  dic- 
tated by  caprice.  At  one  moment  she  would 
play  with  or  sing  to  her  ;  the  next  she  would  re- 
fuse to  walk  or  sit  in  the  same  room  ;  the  truth 
was  that  Margaret  at  times  struggled  against  her 


DUMMY.  179 

envious  feelings  ;  at  others  yielded  most  culpably 
to  their  sug^gestioiis.  Lady  Isabella  had  grown 
old,  and  Margaret  might  almost  be  called  the 
mistress  of  the  establishment.  It  is  a  great  dis- 
advantage to  young  persons  to  be  intrusted  with 
power  before  they  know  how  to  use  it. 

I  need  hardly  repeat  what  has  been  so  often 
and  so  wisely  said,  that,  to  command  properly, 
we  must  first  learn  to  obey.  No  mind  is  ever 
healthy  that  is  not  properly  disciplined  ;  and 
Margaret  had  been  indulged  to  excess  from  her 
birth.  As  an  heiress,  she  was  certain  of  having 
plenty  of  flattery  and  admiration,  and  both  had 
become  necessary  to  her  as  the  air  she  breath- 
ed. Was  it  not  melancholy  to  think  that  she 
grudged  her  afflicted  friend  the  affection  be- 
stowed on  her  by  her  grandmother,  and  that 
latterly  she  never  saw  her  seated  at  the  harp 
without  feeling  a  sharp  and  bitter  pain  at  the 
applause  bestowed  upon  her  exquisite  music] 
One  evening  Dummy  had  been  playing  to  Lady 
Isabella ;  Margaret,  who  seldom  spent  many 
minutes  with  her  grandmother,  came  in.  "  Mar- 
garet," said  the  old  lady,  "  send  for  this  harp, 
before  the  company  you  expect  arrive  :  she 
plays  on  it  better  than  she  does  on  yours." 

"  Dummy  professes  to  love  music  so  much  for 
your  sake  and  its  own,"  she  replied  bitterly, 
"  that  perhaps  she  may  prefer  remaining  with 
you." 

'*  She  does  prefer  remaining  with  me,  when 
one,  the  child  of  my  child,  prefers  society  and 


180  DUMMY. 

amusement  to  the  care  it  would  be  natural  to 
suppose  slie  ought  to  bestow  upon  her  grand- 
mother.    Yet — " 

The  object  of  this  encomium  did  not  permit 
her  ladyship  to  finish  the  sentence  ;  she  threw 
her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  murmured  the 
only  word  she  could  pronounce  without  pain, 
"  No — no — no — no." 

"  My  sweet  child,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  it  is 
ever  thus  ;  you  are  always  the  peace-maker,  my 
sweet — sweet  child  !" 

*'  Sheer  hypocrisy,"  muttered  Margaret. — 
Then  indeed  the  colour  mounted  to  the  Indian's 
cheek  ;  fire  flashed  from  her  bright  black  eyes, 
as  they  rested  oti  Margaret.  Lady  Isabella  laid 
her  hand  on  her  arm,  and  looked  imploringly  in 
her  face.  The  same  moment  Margaret  quitted 
the  room. 

Dummy  wept  sadly  all  that  night.  Her  feel- 
ings had  long  been  subject  to  bitter  injury,  but 
they  had  never  before  been  so  insulted.  Not 
even  the  command  of  her  protectress  could  in- 
duce her  to  make  one  in  the  festivities ;  and 
Margaret's  animosity  was  increased  by  the  nu- 
merous inquiries  which  were  made  after  "  La 
Belle  Indienne  !" 

How  different  were  the  feelings  of  those  two 
girls  on  that  memorable  night, — memorable,  in- 
asmuch as  it  was  the  first  on  which  they  retired 
to  their  several  chambers  without  exchanging  a 
well-understood  "  good  night — good  night !" 
How  many  sweet  remembrances  are  linked  with 


DUMMY.  181 

those  two  simple  words  ;  the  dear  "  good  night," 
seldom  unaccompanied  bj  a  blessing  when  it 
comes  from  the  lips  of  an  affectionate  father  or 
a  tender  mother; — the  delicious  "  good  night" 
murmured  when  brothers  and  sisters  kiss  each 
other's  cheeks,  and  linger,  loath  to  part,  even  to 
enjoy  the  refreshment  of  sleep,  which  they  per- 
haps think  sad,  because  it  is  solitary  ; — the  kind 
"  good  night"  of  friends — of  those  we  esteem — 
of  those  separated  by  distance,  and  whom  per- 
haps we  may  never  meet  again  ! — It  is  a  gentle 
courtesy  that  ought  never  to  be  forgotten — born 
of  good  feeling — trained  by  good  breeding. 

Dummy  knew  that  Margaret  must  pass  her 
chamber  to  go  to  her  own,  and  she  watched  for 
her  soft  but  rapid  footfill  with  a  beating  heart. 
It  came,  it  went ;  it  did  not  even  linger ;  and 
when  she  heard  the  closing  door  she  threw  her- 
self on  her  bed  in  an  agony  of  grief.  When  her 
grief  subsided  she  knelt  and  prayed.  She  ex- 
amined her  own  heart ;  she  found  it  more  full  of 
indignation  than  was  seemly  in  a  Christian  girl. 
She  prayed  again,  and,  though  her  thoughts 
were  voiceless,  they  found  their  way  to  the  Al- 
mighty's throne.  At  last  she  prayed  truly  and 
earnestly  for  Margaret,  and  then  she  slept. 

Let  it  be  remembered  how  differently  those 
two  girls  had  spent  the  evening; — the  Indian  by 
Lady  Isabella's  sick  couch,  or  in  the  solitude  of 
her  own  room ;  Margaret  in  the  gaiety  and 
splendour  which  surround  the  rich  and  beautiful. 
Will  it  be  believed  that  it  did  not  cost  the  young 


182  DUMMY. 

heiress  a  single  pang  to  omit  the  "  good  night," 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  for  years  ? 
She  had  argued  herself  into  the  belief  that  she 
had  been  injured  by  Dummy.  She  could  not 
bear  the  hideous  aspect  of  envy,  and  sought  to 
conceal  its  deformity  under  the  garb  of  indigna- 
tion. She  repeated  to  herself  that  *'  Dummy 
had  supplanted  her  in  her  grandmamma's  affec- 
tions, that  she  tried  to  supplant  her  every  where. 
She,  a  poor  dependent  on  their  bounty — she 
sneered  at  her  affliction — she — but  it  is  an  ugly  pic- 
ture ;  I  will  not  continue  it,  and  only  add,  that 
night  she  either  did  not  or  could  not  pray ;  and  her 
maid  told  the  servants  the  next  morning,  "  that  in- 
deed if  Miss  Lloyd  continued  in  such  a  temper  as 
she  was  last  night,  she  hoped  she  might  sleep  till 
Doomsday."  She  awoke  feverish  and  unrefresh- 
ed,  only  in  time  to  receive  a  summons  to  attend 
her  grandmamma.  The  excellent  Lady  Isabella 
was  dying.  She  had  been  taken  ill  during  the 
night,  and  had  used  her  last  energies  to  per- 
suade her  husband  (who  had  grown  more  stern 
and  harsh  than  ever)  to  acknowledge  poor  Dum- 
my as  his  granddaughter. 

"  It  will  in  some  degree  repay  her,"  said  the 
old  lady,  "  for  the  mortifications  she  has  en- 
dured ;  it  may  curb  Margaret's  overbearing  ha- 
bits. It  is  an  act  of  justice  to  one  whose  unde- 
viating  obedience  and  good  conduct  have,  I 
hope,  in  some  degree  atoned  in  your  eyes  for 
her  parent's  fault.  Do  not  turn  away  your  head 
my  dear  husband,"  she  continued ;  *'  if  you  will 


DUMMY.  183 

not  do  so  much  for  the  dear  girl's  sake,  surely 
you  will  for  miney  The  stern  man  yielded, 
and  before  death  had  forever  sealed  thoSe  mild 
blue  eyes,  which  never  opened  but  to  beam  a 
blessing  upon  all  around  her,  Mr.  Lloyd  had 
pressed  "Dummy"  to  his  bosom,  and  called 
her  his  "  Child." 

Margaret  was  so  mortified  that  she  refused  to 
acknowledge  her  cousin  as  a  relative,  and  was 
cruel  enough  to  omit  no  opportunity  of  hinting 
at  her  mother's  misconduct.  But  this  system 
could  not  last  for  ever ;  God  would  not  permit 
it ;  the  cloud  only  concealed  the  sunshine.  Mar- 
garet married  a  gay,  glittering,  fashionable,  care- 
less man,  and  in  a  very  few  years  she  found  her- 
self the  mother  of  two  children,  deserted  by  her 
husband,  and  without  the  means  of  supporting 
either  herself  or  them.  This  was  indeed  a 
change !  Dummy  remained  with  Mr.  Lloyd 
until  his  death,  and  a  little  before  that  event  oc- 
curred she  received  an  extraordinary  addition  to 
her  fortune,  by  the  death  of  her  father,  of  whom 
she  had  never  heard  until  apprised  by  his  exe- 
cutors of  her  wealth,  which  he  had  accumulated 
in  a  distant  part  of  India.  I  forgot  to  mention 
that  she  married  before  her  cousin  ;  and  it  was 
a  pleasant  thing  to  see  the  stern  harsh  features 
of  the  venerable  old  gentleman  relax  into  a  child- 
like smile  when  Dummy's  little  Isabella  would 
climb  his  knee,  or,  in  its  lisping  voice,  ask  its 
ever-silent  mamma  "  Why  she  did  not  talk?'* 
I  have  written  "  ever-silent ;"  perhaps  I  should 


184  DUMMY. 

have  written  "  ever  eloquent,"  for  her  good 
works,  her  benevolence,  her  charities,  spoke 
trumpet-tongued  unto  the  world.  Margaret  and 
her  cousin  had  long  ceased  to  be  even  ac- 
quainted, until  the  misfortunes  of  the  former  ; 
then  Dummy  nobly  forgave  the  past,  and  wrote 
to  her  as  follows  : — 

"  We  were  friends  in  youth,  dear  Margaret ; 
let  us  be  so  in  age.  My  Isabella  desires  sisters ; 
let  me  teach  your  little  ones  to  be  sisters  to  her. 
My  husband  is  busied  in  state  affairs,  and  I  am 
lonely.  Will  you  not  come  and  live  with  me, 
so  that  I  may  be  no  longer  solitary  in  this  large 
house  1  You  shall  talk  to  me  of  your  dear 
grandmother;  and  I — you  know  /  caji  listen. 
Come,  and  be  to  me  again  a  friend ;  the  re- 
membrance of  our  very  early  days  will  bring 
them  back  to  us  again.  You  will  be,  as  indeed 
you  ever  were,  my  beloved  Margaret — and  I 
will  be,  what  I  was  so  long,  and  ever  hope  to  be, 
your 

*'Dear  Dummy  1" 


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BOYS'  AND  GIRLS'  LIBRARY. 

PUBLISHED   BY 

C.  S.  FlUiNClS   &   CO.  i^EW  YORK. 

AND 

J.  H.  FRANCIS,  BOSTON. 

1.  Perilous  Adventures  of  Qiiiiilin  Harewood, 

And   his   BR(  iTFIKR  BUI  AN,  in  ASI  A,   AFRICA,   and    AMERICA 

llJustraltd  witli  Scrciity  Engrucings. 
Ex  1  Ract  from  Contents. — (.iuiiitin's  birth-place,  Youthful  feats,  Adven- 
ture at  the  wuterlall,  Boat  upset.  Lives  saved,  Visit  to  Paris,  Gaming  table, 
Fat.il  disaster.  Voyage  to  f  iiiladel|)hia,  Kentucky,  tSkuiik,  Cougar,  Narrow 
esnape,  Snakes  iii  the  Alississijipi  valley,  Falls  ol\Niagara,  New  York,  Sail 
to  Xewlbuudiand,  .didnight  adventure,  Beaver,  Cod  lisliiiig,  tftorin  at  sea, 
Whale  tisliery.  Icebergs,  rteamcr  Fresi<lent,  Sea  horse.  Bear,  Utters, 
Wolvu.N  and  Foxes,  Indians,  Mail  buttalo,  Montreal,  Ailventutes  among 
the  Indians,  Arrival  in  North  American  Ibresis,  Voyage  to  South  Ameri- 
ca, Water  s|)()uis.  Driven  to  sea  in  a  boat.  Monkey  tight.  Alligators,  Ad- 
venture "/itii  Robbers,  Jaguar  hunt.  Dangerous  passes  of  the  mountain. 
Electrical  eel,  VV'ild  liorses,  Embark  for  Atrica,  iSailor's  yarn,  Advuuture 
with  a  '-on.  Isle  of  France,  Peter  Botte  mountain,  Arabia,  lied  Sea,  Cam- 
el light.  Ostrich,  Caravan,  I'lundered  by  the  Bedouins,  Ceylon,  Elephant 
hunt.  Trees  and  fruit  in  India,  Snakes,  Combat  of  wild  beasts.  Wild  boar 
hunt.  Fight  betwefii  an  Elejjhant  and  a  Rhinoceros,  Cave  of  Elephanta, 
Alligator  hunt,    New  Holland,   Mutineers,  Voyage  to  Liverpool,  &,c.  dec. 

2.  Farewell  Tales.  ~~ 

By  Mrs.  Hofland.     Consisting  of  the  following  stories.     Engramngs. 
Girls  I  have  known,    New  Flibbertigibbet,  Dapple  and  his  Friends,  Viliago 
Florist,  V'oung  Emigrant,  Helpless  Orphans, Lost  Day, Little  Rachel, Young 
Angler,  Delightful  Morning,  Poor  little  Lucy,  Jaiietta  and  her  Jujubes, 
Salutary  Fear. 

3  &  4.  Robinson  Crusoe. 

LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  of  ROBINSON    CRUSOE,    of    YORK, 
Mariner.     W'ith  an  account  of  his  'J'ravels  round  three  parts  of  the  globe 
Written  by  himself.     Jn  i2  volumes. 
This  edition  contains  the  whole  of  the  work  aa  originally  written  by  the 
author,  and  is  idtastruted  by  Tlurty  new  Engravings- 


5.  i'aiil  Preston's  Voyages,  Travels, 

And  remarkable  ADVENTURES,  as  related  by  himself.  mu» 
trated  by  One  Hundred  and  Ten  Engracings. 
Extract  from  Contents. — Paul  i'reston  and  his  parents,  Warwick  ani! 
Keniiworth  castle,  Hazardous  enterpiise,  Highwaymen,  JN'eu tounilluiid. 
Sea  Voyage,  Fearlessness  of  sailors,  'I'aking  a  shark,  Superstitions  ol' bai- 
lors, Sword  tish,  Ireland,  Sliip  on  rire,  Explosion,  (Quebec,  JJeer  hunting, 
Shetland  Islands,  Maelstrooni,  Guttenbarg,  Adventure  withabeai.  Bear 
hunt.  Forest  on  tire,  Eagle  hght,  Language  of  brutes,  Long  Island  tanner 
and  Labrador  geese,  Young  tigur  and  dog,  V\'olves,  Elephants,  Lajjland, 
Northern  lights,  Taming  wild  animals,  Kein  deer,  /'etersbtirg.  Statue  oi' 
Peter  the  Great,  Russian  robbers,  Death  ot  the  robber  caj)tain)  Strange 
tale  of  a  IJippopotaiiius,  Moonlight  adventure,  Affecting  tale.  Sea  wolf, 
Holland  and  jYeLherlands,  Siege  of  Antwerp,  JJutch  giant,  the  Rhine,  Hwit- 
zer/«(t(/,  Chamois  hunters.  Glaziers,  Monks  of  la  Trappe,  Jt^earful  jirecipice, 
Broken  briilge,  France,  Fight  between  a  horse  and  a  lion.  Adventure  with 
a  wolf,  Spain,  Battle  between  the  French  and  the  Sj)aniards  and  Portu- 
goese,  Madrid,  Bull-tight,  the  Penitent,  Mysterious  murder,  Andalusian 
banditti,  Slave  sliip,  Africa,  Algiers  and  the  French,  Huts  in  trees,  Greece, 
Temple  in  rains,  Albanians  and  Suliots,  I'irates'  cave,  Constantinople, 
Mosque  of  St.  Sophia,  Dervishes,  £^|//;{,  the  iNile,  Hippopotamus,  Hy- 
ffiiia,  Giraffe  hunt,  Egyptian  antiquuies.  Crocodiles,  Caravans,  Voyage 
across  the  Atlantic,   Paul  and  Frank  arrive  at  Boston,  &c.  &.e. 

6.  Swiss  Family  Robinson  i 

Or  ADVENTURES  OF  A  FATHER,  MOTHER,  AND  four  SONS,  in 
A  DESERT  ISLAND.  Ten  Kngracuigs  and  a  Map. 
The  genuine  progress  of  the  story  forming  a  clear  illustration  of  the  first 
principles  of  Natural  History,  and  many  branches  of  Science  which  most 
immediately  apply  to  the  business  of  life.  To  which  are  added  Notes  of 
Reference,  explanatory  of  the  subjects  treated  of. 


7.  Parley's  Bible  Stories. 


For  CHILI>REN  and  YOUTH,  with  Engravings.  Containing  a  se- 
lection of  the  most  remarkable  narratives  from  the  Old  and  New  I'esta- 
ments,  related  in  a  style  to  attract  and  interest  young  readers. 
Contents  — Stories  from  the  Old  Testament — The  Creation,  Cain  and  Abel, 
NoaJi  and  the  flood,  Abraham,  Joseph,  Moses  and  the  Israelites,  Jews 
wandering  forty  years, Isiaelites' journey  to  Canaan,  Ruth,  ."-amuel,  I 'avid, 
David  and  Goliath,  Saul's  persecution  of  David,  Solomon,  Jeroijoani, 
Elijah,  Elisha,  Jonah,  King  Hezekiah,  Daniel  and  Nebuchadnezzar,  Bel- 
shazzur's  feast  and  King  Darius,  King  Ahasuerus  and  the  Jews. — Mew 
Tfstamrnt — Birth  of  John  the  Hapti.st,  Birth  of  Christ,  Shepherds,  Wise 
men,  Passover,  Baptism,  Temptation,  VA'oman  of  Samaria,  JSoblenian's 
son.  Draught  oftislies.  Pool  of  Bethesda,  Widow  of  Nain,  Sower,  Murdt^r 
of  John,  Loaves  and  lishes,  Storm,  Good  Samaritan,  Prodigal  son,  Kich 
man,  Little  children,  Lazarus,  Ten  Virgins,  Christ's  agony,  the  iJenial, 
Crucihxion,    Resurrection. 


8.  Bo/s  Story  Book 


Or     EDWARD'S     HOLIDAYS     with    his    COUSINS,    containing 
Tvventy-Eigiit  Moral  Tales.     Ten  Engravings. 

Contents. — Tho  Parrot,  the  Sacrifice,  Little  friend,  the  Walk,  Christmas 
feast,  Cousin  Philip,  tlie  Kitle,  Arrival  of  travellers,  Conversation,  the 
'I'asK,  xNevv  year's  day,  the  Wonders,  l''airy  tale,  JNosegay.s,  Tale  oftlie 
Woo  Is,  Snake  in  ihe  grass.  Little  moralist,  Coin(ileto  gardener,  the  Island, 
l.'oi)_v  lx)ok.  Village  feasts.  Generous  rivals,  the  Ring,Zoe,  Young  painter, 
the  Visit,    the  Auricula,    the  Farewell. 


9  &  10.  Parent's  Assistant. 


By   M.\RrA    Edgeworth.      Containing   the    following  seventeen  excel- 
lent Stories  for  Young  Persons.      TIUrty-Four  Engravings. 

Contents. — Simple  Susan,  Tarlton,  False  key.  Orphans,  Lazy  Lawrence, 
Basket  woman,  Birth  day  ]>resent,  iMademoiselle  I'anache,  Barring  out, 
Old  I'oz,  Little  Mercliants,  Eton  Alontem,  Waste  not,  want  not,  For- 
give and  forget.  White  i)igeon,  Bracelets,  IViimic. 

^^  .Maria  Edgeworth  is  universally  acknowledged  to  stand  at  the  head  ol 
all  authors  of  books  for  young  people. 


11  Casket  of  Gems. 


Being  a  collection   of    ORIGINAL    MORAL  TALES  Illustrating  the 
following  Maxims,  with  lUustrations  to  each: — 

Never  be  down-hearted.  Be  cheerful  Do  it  well.  Be  orderly.  Be  in  time. 
Be  humble.  Make  a  good  use  of  it.  Be  considerate.  Is  it  honest .''  Be  use- 
ful Be  steady.  Be  kind.  Sot  about  it  directly.  Be  upright.  Be  tidy. 
Be  satisfied.  Envy  not  another.  Be  collected.  Think  Vv'ill  it  mend 
the  mailer ;'  Be  grateful.  Uo  not  deceive  yourself.  Beware  ol  pride.  Elm 
tree  hall.    The  heavy  cross.    The  hard  task.    The  mad  dog.    Snowballing. 


12   The  Eveim^en; 


Or    STORIES    for    CHILDREN  and  YOUTH,  by   Walter  West. 

TtoenUj  Engravings. 

CoNTLNTS. — Forest  home,  Eleanor  Wilmot,  Balloon,  Happy  New  year,  In 
U!Hiation,  Naughty  l)oy  punished,  Noisy  Cecilia,  Ninepins,  Insolent  boy, 

•  Cood  little  Miiry,  Ellen,  Curiosity,  Young  teaohcr,  George,  Sailor  boy's 
R-;tiirn,  Truiint  Emmelino,  the  Careless  girl,  Miss  ttecil,  Too  late  for  a 
rile.  Reward  of  benevolence,  Tom  Morrison,  Young  Robinson  Crusoe, 
.(me  Pi  i  ill  rose,  Lion,  CratefiilJulian,  Pincushions,  Charles,  Fcurtiiof 
Juiy,  Vain  g  .1,    Clotids  and  ouufeijina. 


BOOKS    PUBLISHED    BV    C.   S.   FRAJVCIS    &c    CO.,    NEW    YORK. 


FOR     YOUNG     PERSONS 


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